“And there are none.”
“Well, if that arn’t a drove o’ cattle coming down that mountain side, I’m a Dutchman.”
“It does look like it, Jem,” said Don. “It seems strange.”
“Look like it, Mas’ Don? Why, it is. Brown cattle, and you can see if you look at the sun shining on their horns.”
“Horns! Jem!” cried Don, excitedly; “they’re spears!”
“What?”
“And those are savages.”
“So they are!” cried Jem. “Why, Mas’ Don, that there don’t mean a fight, do it?”
“I don’t know, Jem. But they can’t see us, can they?”
“No. These here bushes shades us. Let’s creep back through the wood, and go and tell ’em down below. They don’t know, p’r’aps, and we may get there first.”