Ned listened to catch some explanation; but at this interesting juncture, for some reason only known to themselves, the two men began talking in the Indian tongue. It was interesting to hear their gutteral exclamations, but it would have been much more interesting could he have understood what they were saying, and to know why it was, when talking, that they laughed and looked meaningly toward him. The lad affected not to notice all this, although it piqued his curiosity not a little.
A half mile more was ridden at a leisurely gait, when all three drew up their mustangs, and Dick Morris looked meaningly at their young comrade.
"Do you hear anything now?"
Yes, there could be no mistaking it, faint though it was. All three sat motionless and listened. At first, it might have been taken for the far-off rumble of thunder—a fluttering, distant rattle, such as is occasionally heard during the hot summer months. It was not exactly of that character, either, being more like a continuous rattle, coming from some point many miles away.
"What do you suppose it is?" asked Tom, of the lad.
"I never heard anything like it before. What is it?"
"Does it sound like the tramp of animals?"
"Not much, it seems to me. It can't be that."
"That's just what it is."
Ned started.