“Has anybody brought bad news?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?” cried Bart. “Why don’t you speak.”
“’Cause I’ve nothing to say, only that I’m sure there’s something wrong.”
“But why are you sure?”
“Because the Beaver’s so busy.”
“What is he doing?”
“All sorts of things. He hasn’t said anything, but I can see by his way that he sniffs danger somewhere. He’s getting all the horses into the cavern stable, and making his men drive all the cattle into the corral, and that means there’s something wrong as sure as can be. Injun smells danger long before it comes. There’s no deceiving them.”
“Let’s go and see him, Joses,” cried Bart; and, shouldering their rifles, they walked past the drawn-up rows of empty waggons, whose stores were all high up on the mountain.
As they reached the entrance to the corral the Indians had driven in the last pair of oxen, while the horses and mules were already in their hiding-place.