Fred Wainwright finally accepted the invitation and clambered up beside him.
“Just look off there!” shouted the Yankee, before the man has fairly reached him, “aint that enough to make your eyes sparkle? I swan! Ki ’yi!”
The next moment, the young hunter saw that the fellow had good cause for his unusual excitement; for there, right below him, were resting the five thousand and odd sheep, which the Comanches had taken so unceremoniously from him a few days before. Their multitudinous baaing, made it a source of wonder that their proximity had not been suspected ere this.
It was yet early in the morning, and the sheep were resting from the severe marching to which they had been subjected. The Indians could be seen, scattered here and there on the outer confines of the immense drove, where any stampede would be sure instantly to arouse them. Here they were slumbering, their faithful animals cropping the grass close beside them, where they could be reached in a second’s call.
One Comanche had just risen, and stood leaning against his horse, and appeared to be yawning and gaping. As there was imminent danger of Swipes being seen, Fred pushed him down from his perch.
“You want to alarm them, do you, and have them all get away, not that you have a chance to recover your property?”
“Well, I swan it makes a feller feel so good that it don’t make much difference whether I get ’em back agin or not.”
“Little good will it do you, then. Let’s go down again and have consultations with Ward, and decide upon our means of recapturing them.”
“But won’t they give us the slip while we’re talking?”
“Not much.”