They had come over a broken trail, where they had often to leap from one rock to the next. More than once one or another of them had fallen, and Si had received a wrench of his left ankle that hurt him considerably.
"This ain't walking over no farm," grumbled Si, as he limped on. "I hope the trail don't get any worse."
"I am afraid it will be worse before we get through the pass," said Mark. "These are not called the Rocky Mountains for nothing."
"Boys, I saw some Indians just now!" cried Maybe Dixon, who was in advance. "About a dozen of them, on ponies."
"Where?" cried the lads, in concert.
"Over yonder." Maybe Dixon pointed with his hand. "They are gone now—behind the spur of rocks."
The boys were curious to see the red men—having met so few on the trail, but when they reached the spur of rocks the Indians were nowhere in sight.
That noon they had to care for Darling's foot again and this took some time. In the meanwhile the Sockets went on, leaving them alone. They were just about to proceed when three Indians rode up. They were a dirty set, with faces sadly in need of washing, and long, talon-like finger nails.
