Aware that something was amiss, Mr. Livingston, who had been looking after the burros, came quickly. Jack showed him the arrow.
“It barely missed War,” he told the Scout leader.
“The miss was deliberate,” Mr. Livingston replied. “But that doesn’t make the situation any less serious. We’re in a bad spot, unless we can convince the natives that our intentions are friendly.”
Disturbed by War’s close call, the Scout leader ordered a search of the area surrounding the camp. The bearers were reluctant to venture from the protection of the group. They huddled together, chattering excitedly. Pedro, Mr. Livingston and Jack made a cautious investigation of the area themselves. Not a sign of anyone could they find, yet they were certain that Indians were all about them.
“We’ll take no chances,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Stay in camp boys, and keep your eyes open. We’ll post a double guard tonight.”
The shooting of the second arrow had filled everyone with uneasiness. Was it possible, they speculated, that in preceding them, Burton Monahan had fallen victim to just such a group of hostile Indians?
“I’ve heard about explorers being held captive for years,” War remarked morosely. “Maybe—”
“Pipe down!” Ken advised him. “Keep away from the firelight too, unless you want an arrow through your gizzard!”
Mr. Livingston advised the Scouts to try to catch some sleep.
“I’ll stay up and keep watch until midnight,” he promised. “After that, Pedro can take over.”