“Not Indians, are they?” whispered Chris with bated breath.
“Where?—where?” panted Ned.
“Over yonder—half-a-mile away. You can just see their black heads above the grass. They’re watching us.”
“What, in that open grassy piece with those trees? Yes, I see now. I’ll canter forward and tell them.”
“No, no, sit still and go steadily on. I don’t want ’em scared. It’s a sight worth seeing. They’re getting scarce now; nearly all have been shot up in the north.”
“Yes, I know they’re getting scarce up there,” said Chris excitedly, while Ned’s eyes began to open wider and wider. “But we ought to warn my father.”
“Nay, I dare say he sees them by now.”
“Shout to him in case he doesn’t,” said Chris excitedly.
“No, no,” replied Griggs, who was shading his eyes to keep off the sun. “They’d hear us if I shouted, and be off at once.”
“But I’m afraid they’ll begin shooting.”