“Not quite, my lads. Don’t you see that we’re playing a very ticklish game? The plan is to get out of this valley ourselves, where we are regularly locked in, and to put the redskins in our place, locking them in. It would be rather remarkable if it wasn’t a ticklish job.”
Just then the doctor came into the shelter where the boys had been talking, bringing with him Wilton, who had been shooting, or rather, trying to shoot, for he had had no success; and they too were talking earnestly about ways and means.
“Oh, here you are, Griggs,” cried the doctor. “Had a good turn at scouting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And all seems favourable for our attempt to-morrow?”
“No, sir. The Indians have shifted their quarters, and they’re in about as awkward a position as they could contrive for our purpose.”
“Then what do you propose?”
“Nothing, sir, but wait.”
“But we really cannot wait any longer, Griggs. Provisions failing too fast. We must get away from here to some good hunting-ground. Do the Indians seem to be camping, or only on the move?”
“They seem to me to be hatching up some dodge or another,” replied Griggs. “I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if we saw them over the way there—just one or two, scouting; and if we do I should be for a stand at arms all night, for it might mean an attack after dark.”