“Well, Steb., how do you find the horizon?” asked Black Tom, who bore that soubriquet on account of his exceedingly dark complexion.
“Cl’ar, as the sky above?”
“Nary a sign?”
“Yas—thar’s signs, but the sky is powerful cl’ar.”
This apparently contradictory answer requires a little explanation. Old Stebbins had detected signs of Indians—indeed had indubitable evidence that they were in the neighborhood; but the signs which indicated this fact to them indicated still further that the same Indians, or Blackfeet, as they undoubtedly were, had no suspicion of the presence of white men. This, therefore, disclosed a “clear sky” so far as the trappers were directly concerned, although they were thus made aware that there was a dark, threatening cloud low down in the horizon, which might rise, and send forth its deadly lightning.
Looking to the westward, Stebbins saw a wooded ridge a hundred rods or so distant, which shut off any further view in that direction; but, about a half-mile beyond this, his keen eyes detected the smoke of a camp-fire. It was very faintly defined against the clear blue sky, but it was unmistakable, and indicated that a party of Indians were encamped there.
Why, then, did Black Tom sit so unconcernedly upon the ground, after hearing this announcement, and permit their fire to burn so vigorously, when its ascending vapor might make known to the Blackfeet what they did not even suspect?
Because night was closing around them, and ere the red-skins would be likely to detect the suspicious sign, it would be concealed in the gathering darkness—and the dense shrubbery effectually shut out the blaze from any wanderers that might venture that way.
As there was nothing at hand immediately to engage their attention, the trappers, after gathering a goodly quantity of fuel, reclined upon the ground, and leisurely smoked their pipes.
“Teddy is gone a powerful while,” remarked Tom, as he looked up and saw that it was quite dark; “he can’t be as hungry as we are.”