“I can’t say; you heard the news the trapper brought, didn’t you?” asked Dave.
“Yes,” answered Hickman.
“The red devils are on the war-path, but I don’t expect that they can trouble us much, because we’re too many for them. They’ll probably try it, but we’ll flax ’em if they do,” said Dave.
“You think there is danger of an attack then?” questioned the elder Hickman.
“Sart’in!” answered Dave, “jist as sure as we are hyar at Fort Bent to-day.”
“The Indians always attack at night, I believe?” said Eben.
“Yes, generally,” answered the guide, curtly. He had taken a dislike to the Hickmans, both father and son, a dislike he could not well explain.
Eben Hickman stood for a moment as if in thought, then turned to his son. “Come, Richard, we may as well look after our ammunition.” So the two walked back toward the fort.
“Ammunition, blazes!” said Abe, emphatically. “If thar’s any fighting to be done, I guess both of those chaps will be more likely to be behind a wagon than facing the Injuns.”
“That’s what I think,” cried Dave; “I hate the sight of both those fellows, I don’t exactly know why, but I s’pose it’s because I think they’re a couple of cowards.”