"He's too afraid of the ground—thinks it's still hot, and I don't blame him. The fire has singed him pretty well as it is."
The Indians sat their mounts as motionless as statues, the ponies headed directly toward where the two lads were lying.
"I'll bet they're got guns under those blankets," decided Tad. "You can't trust an Indian even while you are looking at him."
"Anybody'd think you'd been hunting Indians all your life," growled Stacy.
"They've been hunting me mostly," grinned Tad.
"And usually caught you," added Chunky.
"I don't like this lying here as if we were scared of them."
"But, what else can we do, Tad?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I. Wish I had a shirt. I'll spoil my complexion clear down to my waist. Resides, I'm not fit to be seen."