“But the danger of detection!” he cried, in a low tone.
“None at all. In the confusion of a night attack, who can tell whether a shot is fired outside the camp or within it?” asked the father.
“Very true; but, suppose the Indians do not attack us?”
“Then I’ll think of some other way before we reach Montana.”
The precious pair of villains walked back to the fort, having come to an understanding.
CHAPTER IV. THE GIRL WITH THE RED-GOLD HAIR.
The glowing sun had set in the west—a huge ball of fire that seemed to sink into the ground. The shade of night had fallen and darkness veiled in the distant prairie. Supper had been prepared and eaten by the emigrants and some had begun to arrange to retire for the night.
The moon, three-quarters full, was rising slowly, casting its clear, pure light over the vast plain, chasing the darkness away and dancing in little waves of light on the yellow and swift-flowing waters of the Yellowstone.
The fires of the emigrants threw out their uncertain and flickering light upon the faces of the little groups that surrounded them. All were speaking of the dangers of the journey before them, and many a tale of Indian warfare and border peril were rehearsed around the watch-fires of the wagon-train.