“I came first for the glass,” replied Bart. “I’ll send you notice if they appear likely to attack, sir.”
“Then I hope you will not have to send the notice, my lad,” said the Doctor, “for I don’t like fighting in the dark.”
As he spoke he handed the glass, and Bart returned to the gallery.
“Are they still there?” he whispered.
“Yes; Apaché dogs,” was the reply. “Good medicine.”
“They won’t find it so,” growled Joses, “if they come close up here, for my rifle has got to be hungry again. I’m ’bout tired of not being left peaceable and alone, and my rifle’s like me—it means to bite.”
As he crouched there muttering and thinking of the narrow escapes they had had, Bart carefully focussed the glass, no easy task in the deep gloom that surrounded them; and after several tries he saw something which made him utter an ejaculation full of wonder.
“What is it, my lad?” whispered Joses.
“The young chief sees the Apaché dogs?” said the interpreter.
“Yes,” exclaimed Bart; “the plain swarms with them.”