“I s’pose so, but I couldn’t say for sure. I don’t know the place; was never up there.”
“What kind of a place is it—did you ever hear?”
“Oh, yes. It is north of the Oregon line, and is a great place for salmon-fishing. The Injuns have a great time catching ’em in the season.”
“This Smoholler, then, is a kind of independent chief among the other tribes?”
“Yes; and his tribe is a conglomeration of all the other tribes, and the pick of ’em, too. They are called Smohollers by the other Injuns, but there’s Cayuses, Yakimas, Umatillas, Modocs, Snakes, and Piutes amongst them.”
“A mongrel set!”
“But tough customers to deal with.”
Lieutenant Gardiner turned to Percy Vere.
“You and your chum send the sentinels in to me, and take their places—young eyes are sharp.”
The two boys, who had been listening attentively to this conversation, obeyed at once, and the two sentinels soon appeared before the lieutenant. But they had not seen any one approach the camp, and were surprised to hear that an arrow had been shot into it.