“All right,” replied old Eben, “I shall look out.”
And then the devil’s pair, father and son, mingled in one of the little groups near the fires.
The shades of night gathered over the prairie; the pickets were posted, and the cattle corralled in the center of the little circle formed by the wagons and the river.
Anxious hearts were in the camp that night. Many a cheek lost its ruddy hue and paled as the owner thought of the danger that, like a dark cloud, hovered over them. Miles were they away from home and friends, surrounded by the red fiends thirsting for the blood of the “pale-faces.” Many a prayer went up to Heaven from white lips, that the Great Power above would protect them and guide them safe to their far western home.
The night wore on; no signs of danger had yet been seen, even by the keen-eyed guides.
“What do you think, Abe?” asked Dave, as the two stood together, beyond the picket-line on the eastern side of the camp, watching the prairie before them. The night was dark and the moon shone not over the prairie.
“What do I think? Wal; I think that in less than an hour we’ll have the toughest fight that we’ve been in for many a long day,” replied the “Crow-Killer.”
“You think so?” asked Dave, anxiously. His thoughts were of Leona.
“Sart’in” responded the old guide; “the Crows mean mischief, or else I’m a sucker!”
Just then the prolonged howl of a coyote sounded faintly in the distance over the prairie.