The full extent of their peril was at once apparent, no less than twelve mounted Indians being at the head of the little valley in a group, every man in full war-paint, and with his rifle across his knees as he sat upon his sturdy Indian pony.
Facing them were Maude, Joses, Juan, and the other two men, who had apparently been taken by surprise, and who, rifle in hand, seemed to be parleying with the enemy.
The sight of the reinforcement in the shape of Bart, and Dr Lascelles made the Indians utter a loud “Ugh!” and for a moment they seemed disposed to assume the offensive, but to Bart’s surprise they only urged their ponies forward a few yards, and then stopped.
“Get behind the waggon, quick, my child,” panted the Doctor, as Bart rushed up to his old companion’s side.
“They came down upon us all at once, master,” said Joses. “They didn’t come along the trail.”
“Show a bold front,” exclaimed the Doctor; “we may beat them off.”
To his surprise, however, the Indians did not seem to mean fighting, one of them, who appeared to be the chief, riding forward a few yards, and saying something in his own language.
“What does he say?” said the Doctor, impatiently.
“I can’t make him out,” replied Joses. “His is a strange tongue to me.”
“He is hurt,” exclaimed Bart. “He is wounded in the arm. I think he is asking for something.”