A BATTLE OF QUIRTS.
Ted turned Bingo over to one of the boys to care for, and crept forward stealthily toward the hill behind which he had seen a thin thread of blue smoke rising in the still air.
No one but an Indian or a trained scout would build so small a fire. A tenderfoot would have made one that roared and sent a vast cloud of smoke toward the sky to attract any enemy that might be in the vicinity.
But an Indian builds his fire in a space not much larger than the hollow of his two hands, and manages to send up smoke that only a trained eye could detect, and at the same time have heat enough with which to warm himself and cook his food, with as little fuel as possible.
As he went forward, Ted was surprised that he came upon no sign of a camp guard.
The Indians evidently thought that the boys would not have the courage to follow them into their own country, and had grown careless.
So much the better. It would give him a chance to learn how they were situated before making an attack.
He crept on his hands and knees to the ridge of the hill, and, removing his hat, peered over the edge.
Below in a small valley he saw about fifty Indians, who, from their dress and their manner of painting their faces, he knew to be of various tribes.
He easily recognized in the band several Blackfeet, six or seven Crows, some Sioux, who had come far north, and to his astonishment a few Southern Indians, such as Caddos, Cheyennes, and Comanches.