“I dunno. We’d better get right out of here, though. He may come looking for it.”
“’E ’asn’t missed it, I reckon. H’it was in ’is belt. What they doin’ now?”
“Tearing up the rails, so as to wreck a train. I’m going to try to make Plum Creek. I’ll help you into that gully; then I’ve got to go.”
“H’all right,” groaned Bill. “You go. Never you mind me. H’I can manage.”
“No,” said Terry. And suddenly he crouched lower. “Keep quiet, Bill. They’re coming back.”
“Oh, the bloody villains,” groaned Bill. “Make a run for it, while you can. Never mind me.”
“I can’t,” answered Terry. And even if he would, he didn’t dare. They might see him; if they didn’t catch him, they’d find Bill——!
The whole body of Indians were roistering back, up track, for their fire; probably to hide near it, as before, and wait. Some were afoot, some on ponies; and a hideous sight they offered, to Terry, crouched here on the outskirts of the fire-light, and daring to move not a muscle. Cheyennes; that’s who they were: Cheyennes!
They began to scatter out, for ambush. Perhaps there’d be a chance to risk it and crawl farther away. Ah! Oh, thunder! One of them was coming across, straight this way, prowling through the brush.
“Lie low, Bill. Watch sharp.”