“Let me,” Jack offered.
“No, you need your sleep, Jack. We’ll have a hard day tomorrow.”
No further disturbance marred the slumber of the Scouts that night. However, when Jack pulled out of his bag at dawn, he knew instantly that some new disaster had befallen.
During the night, all of the native bearers save Pedro, quietly had deserted, taking with them five burros and nearly a third of the remaining supplies.
Mr. Livingston called a brief council that morning after breakfast.
“You know the situation,” he said. “We may as well face the truth. We’re entering hostile Indian country. Our bearers have deserted, leaving us barely enough rations to get safely back to Cuya. Pedro advises that we turn back.”
“He’s been advising that ever since we left there,” growled Ken. “Now he’s worried about those arrows.”
“No use ducking it, Ken. We’re in a bad spot. We can’t ignore the warnings.”
“We’ve not seen a single Indian,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Maybe Captain Carter is lurking around somewhere, and is trying tricks to scare us out.”
“That’s possible,” the Scout leader conceded, “but hardly probable.”