“Let us ride to him,” said I, walking my horse onward.
We had ridden a short distance when Nat halted and asked:
“What’s got into Biddon? Just look at him!”
I did look up, and for a moment believed the man had turned crazy. He had seen us approaching, and was now making furious gesticulations toward us. I watched him a moment, and then remarked:
“He is either signaling for us to come on or to stop.”
“He means us to wait, I guess, and we had better pause until he returns.”
We reined in our horses and watched him. He was apparently satisfied with our stopping, and stooped and commenced working at the animal. In a few moments he arose, and slinging a huge piece on his shoulder, made his way into the grove. From this he emerged in due time, and made his way toward us, motioning, meanwhile, for us to remain in our places.
“Why didn’t you wish us to approach?” I asked, as soon as he came within speaking distance.
He made no answer, but throwing his meat upon the ground, hastily mounted his horse. Then he spoke in a deep whisper:
“Boys, did you ’spose there’s over twenty redskins among them trees?”