But for the space of an hour, as they rode on in the shade of the early morning, there was no sign of an enemy either to front or rear, and inspirited by the crisp mountain air, the boys felt their spirits rise, and were ready to banter John Manning about what they looked upon as his mistake.
“Depend upon it,” said Perry, “they drew right back to go and camp for the day, and rest, before coming to attack us again.”
“They were soon rested then, sir,” said the old soldier drily, “for there’s two of ’em up yonder behind those pieces of rock.”
“Where? Nonsense. Birds: condors, perhaps, on a shelf.”
“Perhaps so, sir,” said John Manning; “but they’re birds that can make signals, and your father sees them too.” For just then the colonel drew his mule aside, and let the rest pass on, while he waited for the rearguard to come up.
“Be on the alert,” he said as they came up; “the Indians are high above us on the mountain-side, and they are making signs to others right up the gorge. Close up.”
Then going nearer to his old servant, he whispered:
“Keep a sharp eye up to right and left, and if they open the ball, jump down, and don’t hesitate about taking good aim at the first who tries to stop us.”
“Right, sir. But how do you think they will open the ball, sir? Arrows?”
“No: as our old friends in the North-west did, John Manning. Ah, look, they have begun.”