“I’m going to give you the glass back,” cried Chris.
“No, you’re not; and you’re going to have a good look out. But I say, mind; don’t let the sun shine on the glass, or the Indians may see the flash. Pull out the sunshades.”
“I have,” said Chris, taking a long look out in the direction of the enemy.
“See ’em?”
“No. All’s clear there.”
“Take a good long sweep round and keep watching till you find out where the Indians are. I’m going down to the bottom of the fall to bathe my eye. It is bad.”
“Make haste, then.”
“All right. Call or whistle when you see them. I shall hear you.”
Chris nodded and grunted, and then went on examining every part of the plain below, but without result, and he thought and muttered to himself the while.
“He needn’t have told a fib over it. Now, I wonder where those red niggers are.—He might have known that I should see through him at once.—A nigger can’t be red. That’s stupid.—It was rather nice of old Ned, though. I’m afraid I shouldn’t have done as much for him.—They must have gone in amongst the grass and trees somewhere about there. I wish I could see them. But I don’t think they’re after us—only hunting.”