“But where? No; don’t tell me. I see it,” cried Bart excitedly.
“Not you, young master! where?”
“Right away off from your right shoulder, like a little train of ants crawling over a brown path. I can see: there are men and horses. Is it a waggon-train? No, I am sure now. Miles away. They are Indians.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Joses. “That’s better. That’s a good lesson before breakfast, and without a spy-glass. I shall make a man of you yet, Master Bart.”
“Which way are they going?”
“Nay, I shan’t tell you, my lad. That’s for you to find out.”
“Well, I will directly,” said Bart, shading his eyes. “Where are we now? Oh, I see. Now I know. No; I don’t, they move so slowly. Yes, I can see. They are going towards the north, Joses.”
“Nor’-west, my lad,” said the frontier man; “but that was a pretty good hit you made. Now what was the good of my telling you all that, and letting you be a baby when I want to see you a man.”
“We’ve lost ever so much time, Joses.”
“Nay, we have not, my lad; we’ve gained time, and your eyes have had such a eddication this morning as can’t be beat.”