THE CAMP-FIRE.
As our three friends on that bright summer morning stood on the slope of the mountains and gazed down into the beautiful Salinas Valley before them, Elwood Brandon suddenly pointed a little to the north and said:
"See! there are others beside us!"
About a mile distant, and not far from the river, they saw a thin, black column of smoke rising among the trees, of so dark and palpable a character that it could be distinguished at once.
"Another party of Indians," replied Howard. "We seem to be getting into their neighborhood."
"I only wish they were a party of white hunters or miners, for I long to see a friendly face."
"What good could it do us? They wouldn't accompany us home, or take any trouble to see that we were protected."
"Perhaps not, but I tell you, Howard, this begins to look dangerous when we see nothing but enemies. There are but three of us, and one gun only between us. I believe a single Indian could destroy us all if he chose to do so."
"Except in one contingency."
"What is that?"