“Indians,” said Stanley tersely.
“Cheyennes. Back to camp.”
“Down the creek?” suggested Stanley.
“The bottom is alive with Indians.”
“Up then, Bob?”
“Their camp is just above the bend. They have spotted our trail, too, somehow. It may be they are riding easy to close in on us,” smiled Scott, while Bucks’s hair began to pull. “Our way out is over this divide.” He indicated the rough country east of the creek as he spoke.
“Divide!” exclaimed Stanley, looking up at the practically sheer walls of rock that hedged the course of the creek. “We can’t climb those hills, if we never get out.”
“They’re not quite so bad as they look. Anyway, colonel, we’ve got to.”
“They can pick us off our horses like monkeys all the way up!”