"To look after our traps, caramba! do you think I will lose them?"
"Humph! that's a good thought."
The hunters advanced in the direction of the camp, but in the Indian fashion—that is to say, by making numberless turnings and windings intended to throw out the Comanches.
After progressing in this way for twenty minutes, they arrived at the camp. The Indians had not yet returned; but in all probability, it would not be long before they did so. All their baggage was scattered about. Two or three horses, which had not felt disposed to run away, were browsing quietly on the peavines.
Without losing time, the hunters set about collecting their traps, which was soon done. Each loaded himself with five, and, without further delay, they resumed the way to the cavern where they had concealed their horses.
Notwithstanding the tolerably heavy weight they carried on their shoulders, the two men marched lightly, much pleased at having so happily terminated their expedition, and laughing at the trick they had played the Indians.
They had gone on thus for some time, and could already hear the murmur of the distant waters of the river, when, all at once, the neighing of a horse struck their ears.
"We are pursued," said Loyal Heart, stopping.
"Hum!" Belhumeur remarked, "it is, perhaps, a wild horse."
"No; a wild horse does not neigh in that manner; it is the Comanches; but we can soon know," he added, as he threw himself down to listen, and placed his ear close to the ground.