“Did the Doctor order this?” asked Bart.
“Not he, sir: he’s busy up above looking at the silver they dug out while we were down in the canyon. It’s all the Beaver’s doing, Master Bart, and you may take it for granted there’s good cause for it all.”
“Ah, Beaver,” said Bart, as the chief came out of the corral, “why is this?”
“Indian dog. Apaché,” said the chief, pointing out towards the plain.
Bart turned sharply round and gazed in the indicated direction, but he could see nothing, neither could Joses.
The Beaver smiled with a look of superior wisdom.
“The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” said the interpreter, coming up, “hears the Indian dog, the enemies of his race, on the wind; and he will not stampede the horses and cattle, but leave the bones of his young men upon the plain.”
“But where are the Apachés?” cried Bart. “Oh, he means, Joses, that they are out upon the plain, and that it is wise to be ready for them.”
“Yes; he means that they are out upon the plain, and that they are coming to-night, my lad,” said Joses. Then, turning to the chief, he patted the lock of his rifle meaningly, and the chief nodded, and said, “Yes.”
“Come,” he said directly after, and he led the frontiersman and Bart to the entrance of the stable, where his followers were putting the last stones in position. Then he took them to the corral, which was also thoroughly well secured with huge stones; and the Indians now took up their rifles, and resuming their ordinary sombre manner, stood staring indifferently about them.