But the sun climbed the sky and the longing, wandering and impatient boys saw nothing of their friend. Almost directly opposite and a fourth of a mile away was a mass of boulders, some of which had apparently been brought down by the torrent.
“It seems to me,” said Victor, “that something is moving near those rocks. Try your spyglass on them, George.”
A minute’s scrutiny was enough to show that Victor was right.
“There are several Indians,” said George, still holding the glass in place. “They seem to be looking at us.”
“Mul-tal-la must be with them. I suppose he is telling about his two companions.”
“I don’t make him out, for the rocks interfere. You try it.”
He passed the glass to Victor, and, as the brothers stood side by side, the second leveled the instrument at the group. At the same moment the red men came from behind the boulders and moved down the slope in the direction of the boys, as if they meant to call on them. All were afoot, and two were of shorter stature than the others.
With the help of the glass Victor Shelton gained a clear view of the faces of the whole party, who were dressed much the same as the Blackfoot.
“Mul-tal-la isn’t there,” said the surprised lad. “I don’t understand that.”
“He can’t be far off. He’s likely to show up pretty soon. Shall we wait for those Indians, for they mean to visit us—that’s certain?”