“Yes; perhaps a fortnight.”
“Then if you don’t mind, master, I think we’ll move camp to that little patch of rocks close by that old blasted tree that stands up like a post. I’ve been thinking it will be a better place; and if you’ll give the word, I’ll put the little keg of powder in a hole somewhere. I don’t think it’s quite right to have it so near our fire every day.”
“Do what you think best, Joses,” said the Doctor, eagerly. “Yes; I should bury the powder under the rocks somewhere, so that we can easily get it again. But why do you want to move the camp?”
“Because that’s a better place, with plenty of rocks for cover if the Injuns should come and look us up.”
“Let us change, then,” said the Doctor, abstractedly; and that afternoon they shifted to the cluster of rocks near the blasted tree, close under the shelter of the tall wall-like mountain-side. Rocks were cleared from a centre and piled round; the waggon was well secured; a good place found for the horses; and lastly, Joses lit his cigarette, and then took the keg of gunpowder, carried it to a convenient spot near the withered tree, and buried it beneath some loose stones.
The Beaver smiled at the preparations, and displayed his knowledge of English after a short conversation with the interpreter by exclaiming:
“Good—good—good—very good!”
A hasty meal was snatched, and then the Doctor went off again alone, while the Beaver signed to Bart to follow him, and then took him past the narrow opening that led to the way up the mountain, and showed him a second opening, through which they passed, to find within a good open cavernous hollow at the foot of the mountain wall, shut in by huge masses of rock.
“Why, our horses would be safe here, even if we were attacked,” exclaimed Bart.
“Horses,” said the Beaver, nodding. “Yes; horses.”