“Hush! Silence!” came in a familiar voice. “Don’t you know us, boys?”
Both Cyril and Perry were speechless, so great was the emotion caused by the surprise, and they stared at the dimly-seen, bare-headed figures wearing the Indians’ long, loose garments.
“Now, quick,” said the colonel, stripping off the Indian frock, “off with yours, too, Manning.”
The man obeyed with all a well-drilled soldier’s celerity and silence, and, stooping down, the colonel was about to thrust the cotton garments in amongst the undergrowth, when Cyril, who had now recovered himself, whispered a few words to the colonel.
“Good! Capital!” he said. “Only quick, and we’ll wait here.”
Cyril snatched at the two frocks, and, stooping down, laid them, well stretched out, at a short distance from the fire, where, in the dim light, they gave a rough idea of covering a couple of Indians stretched out in sleep.
It was only the work of a minute, and then Cyril was back to where Perry stood excited and nervous, for the feeling was strong upon him that, after all, his father and Manning had slain the two guides.
“Where are the mules?” said Cyril to the colonel.
“Silence! Follow. Stoop till we are well beyond the fire.”
“But our guns, sir?” said Cyril.