“Why, you don’t think that physic would do our eyes any good, do you, Joses?” whispered Bart.
“Physic, no! I said medicine,” chuckled Joses.
“Well, what’s the difference?” replied Bart.
“Difference enough. I meant Injun’s medicine, as they call it. Didn’t the Beaver say that the master’s glass was all good medicine? He thought it was a sort of conjuring trick like their medicine-men do when they are making rain come, or are driving out spirits, as they call it. No; we can’t help our eyes being queer, my lad, but we can use medicine spy-glasses, and see farther than the Injun. Hold your tongue; he’s making signs.”
For the Beaver had held up his hand again to command silence. Then he drew Bart towards him, and pointed outwards.
“Apaché dogs,” he whispered. “Young chief Bart, see?”
“No,” replied the lad, after gazing intently for some time; and then, without a word, he glided off along the narrow, rocky, well-sheltered path, and made his way to the Doctor, who, with his men, was upon the qui vive.
“Well, Bart, what is it?” he said, eagerly.
“The Beaver can see Apachés on the plain.”
“A night attack, eh?” said the Doctor. “Well, we shall be ready for them. Why have you come—to give us warning?”