“My, but this is pretty, isn’t it!” sighed Hal.
“I should say so!” agreed Ned. “I don’t blame the Indians any for hating the white men who made them give it up.”
The two boys strolled along the crest, sparsely wooded with sentinel oaks, and covered with short turf which furnished forage for a few horses.
They had not gone far when they came upon quite a hole or pit, extending down through the black forest loam into the yellow clay beneath.
“Why was this dug, do you suppose?” remarked Hal.
“I don’t know,” said Ned, gazing into it, and pondering.
“There’s another,” cried Hal, pointing ahead.
So there was, and still another was visible, farther on.
“I tell you—these are Indian mounds, and people have been opening them to see what’s inside,” exclaimed Ned, positively.