The sudden note of alarm was not lost on Dave and in a twinkle both the young hunters were crouched behind the fallen tree. Dave caught his gun and placed his hand on the trigger, but Henry shoved the barrel of the piece downward.
"What did you see?" came from the younger of the youths.
"Indians!" was the short reply. Henry peeped carefully forth. "Yes, sir, Indians, just as sure as you are born. Look for yourself."
"By the king, but you're right!" exclaimed Dave, in excitement. "Two, three—I see four of them."
"I think I saw a fifth—behind that rock to the right. Yes, there he is."
"Can you make out what they are?"
"No, excepting that they are none of White Buffalo's tribe."
"If they don't belong in this neighborhood they are here for no good," said Dave, decidedly.
"I agree with you there, Dave. Possibly they are on a hunt. But why should they come here when there is better game further west?"
"If they are on a hunt it's not for wild animals," came from Dave, significantly. "Have they got their war paint on?"