“What are you going to do?”
“Help you do nothing,” said Ned, laughing.
He led the way, and Chris limped after him, to find one part of the terrace turned into a rough observatory with a stone seat, and the binocular and rifle lying ready as Ned had said.
“I can’t see anything of our people, nor yet of the Indians,” said Chris, after a good look round in different directions.
“Oh, no; they keep well hidden.”
“No fear of their hiding in any of those cells or on the terraces across the valley, is there?”
“I dunno; they might,” replied Ned; “but they couldn’t send an arrow in here from that distance.”
“But we could send bullets. That side’s within range,” said Chris thoughtfully.
“Oh yes, and it wouldn’t be lucky for one of the scalpers to show himself, I can tell him; but I say, look at the animals. I went down to them this morning, and their coats are getting smooth already. The coarse rich grass here suits them splendidly. If we stop here long they’ll be growing fat.”
Chris turned the glass upon the little drove of mules, which were grazing contentedly enough, and then changed his position to look at the ponies, which were keeping themselves aloof from their distant relatives, and cropping away with the thick grass right up to their knees.