The evening drew near at last, with everything made ready that was possible. The water and provisions near at hand; saddles and bridles examined; and according to his custom, Chris was about to go out into the valley and see to his pony, examining the wounds and giving him something a little extra in the way of food, when Griggs came and joined him.
“Don’t start,” he said, “but go on just as usual.”
“Something wrong?” said Chris, doing exactly what he had been told not to do.
“Call it something wrong if you like,” said Griggs, laughing; “but it’s only what I expected. I’ve been up at the lookout with your father, and we made out two Indians crawling to the top of the cliff over there, just like a couple of big red slugs on a wet night.”
“Then they’re watching us?” panted Chris.
“Just as they always have been, my lad, and looking out to try and turn us into pin-cushions for their arrows, if we’d only go out far enough, which we wouldn’t do on any consideration.”
“But this will quite upset our plans for to-night,” said Chris.
“Oh no. We shall go on; for this looks promising, my lad. They’ve always been watching us more or less.”
“Then they’ve seen us hunting for a hiding-place for the ponies and mules?”
“Yes, of course.”