This was repeated several times, and then, for a change, Cyril proposed that they should strike off a little, straight away from the camp.
Perry was willing, and they put their plan in operation, for no special reason other than that of seeing the ground was clear in different directions, and to relieve the monotony of the watch.
“You lead now,” said Cyril, in a low voice, so as not to disturb the others, who, in thorough confidence that a good watch would be kept, and that there was no fear of any danger, were sound asleep.
Perry led on, finding the way more open a short distance from the camp, but he had not led thirty yards when he stopped short.
“Hallo! another mule?” said Cyril.
“Indian!” said Perry huskily; and, as Cyril pressed forward to his companion’s side, there, hard to define, but plain at last, stood one of the Indians, who raised his arm and pointed back, uttering two or three words in a guttural tone.
“What does he say?”
“That we must go back to the fire. Perhaps we had better,” said Cyril. “I don’t like his being there, though. Look here,” he said quickly; “let’s make haste back, and go right out the other way.”
“What for?” said Perry, following his companion.
“I’ll tell you directly.”