The natural supposition was that if this finger of smoke was a signal from one party of red men to another, something would show in the nature of a reply. He swept every point of the horizon with the instrument, but that which he dreaded to see he did not discover. Still this fact might signify nothing.
Alden could not rid himself of the fear that the signal referred to him. Its precise meaning was beyond guessing. Shagbark might have solved the puzzle, but his young friend could not.
“There may be a party of Indians camping on my trail and this is to let them know where they will find me. Perhaps it tells them they needn’t bother, for those in front have fixed things so as to gather me in; or possibly—but what’s the use?” he demanded impatiently, realizing that it was worse than useless to launch out upon such a sea of speculation.
The pony showed a wish to resume his gallop, even though the incline continued, but his rider would not permit.
“I may be wrong,” he reflected, “but I’m too merciful—”
To his amazement, Dick at that moment suddenly came to a full stop. Not only that, but he threw up his head, thrust his ears forward and snorted. He had made some alarming discovery. What could it be?
The startled Alden glanced ahead. The rocks and boulders still cut off his view, and he could not see clearly for a hundred yards in any direction.
The signs of alarm on the part of the pony increased. He snorted louder and began backing, showing an inclination to whirl about and dash off. Alden patted his neck and spoke soothingly, but could not quiet him.
“He knows a good deal more than I do,” said the youth to himself.
Then, yielding to an impulse natural in the circumstances, Alden deftly slipped from the saddle and ran a few paces to the nearest rock behind which he crouched. The pony thus relieved of his burden, swung around as if on a pivot and dashed toward the plateau.