“Wal, that’s no weed,” said the trapper, with a laugh, “nor grass, neither. If it is, it’s on hossback, an’ carries a shootin’-iron or a bow an’ arrer. That’s a Injun, or I never seed one afore. What do you say, Bob?” he asked, turning to the old trapper, who at this moment came up.
“I seed that five minutes ago,” was the reply, “an’ in course it can’t be nothin’ but a red-skin.”
The boys gazed long and earnestly at the object, but their eyes were not as sharp as those of the trappers, for they could not discover that it bore any resemblance to an Indian, until Mr. Winters handed them his field-glass through which he had been regarding the object ever since its discovery. Then they found that the trappers had not been deceived. It was a solitary Indian, who sat on his horse as motionless as a statue, no doubt watching the train, and endeavoring to satisfy himself of the number of men there might be to defend it. In his hand he carried something that looked like a spear adorned with a tuft of feathers.
“I wish the varlet was in good pluggin’ distance,” said Dick, patting his rifle which lay across his knees. “If I could only get a bead on him, he would never carry back to his fellers the news of what he has seed.”
“Do you suppose there are more of them?” asked Archie, in a voice that would tremble in spite of himself.
“Sartin,” replied old Bob Kelly, who still rode beside the wagon; “thar’s more of ’em not fur off. This feller is a kind o’ spy like, an’ when he has seen exactly how things stand, he’ll go back an’ tell the rest of ’em, an’ the fust thing we know, they’ll be down on us like a hawk on a June-bug. But they’ll ketch a weasel, they will, when they pitch into us. Dick, when they do come, don’t forget Bill Lawson.”
The trapper turned his head, for a moment, as if to hide the emotion he felt, at the mention of the name of his departed companion, but presently replied:
“This aint the fust time that you an’ me have been in jest sich scrapes, Bob, an’ it aint likely that we’ll soon forget that we owe the varlets a long settlement. Thar aint as many of us now as thar used to be; more’n one good trapper has had his har raised by them same red-skins—fur I know a Cheyenne as fur as I kin see him, youngsters—an’ mebbe one o’ these days, when some one asks, ‘What’s come on ole Bob Kelly an’ Dick Lewis?’ the answer will be, ‘Killed by the Injuns!’”
It may be readily supposed that such conversation as this was not calculated to quiet the feelings of Frank and Archie—who had been considerably agitated by the information that there was a body of hostile Indians at no great distance—and to their excited imaginations the danger appeared tenfold worse than it really was. At that day, as the trapper had remarked, it was a very uncommon occurrence for a large train to be engaged in a regular fight with the Indians, for the latter had learned to their cost that the pioneers were always well armed, and that there were some among them who understood Indian fighting. They generally contented themselves with sudden and rapid raids upon the stock of the emigrants, and they seldom departed empty-handed. But it is not to be wondered that the trappers, who had participated in numberless engagements with the savages, and witnessed deeds of cruelty that had awakened in them a desire for vengeance, should delight to talk over their experience. The boys, although considerably frightened, were still greatly encouraged by their example. Dick twisted uneasily on his seat, as though impatient for the fight to begin, now and then looking toward the spy, as if he had half a mind to venture a shot at him; while old Bob Kelly rode along, smoking his pipe, apparently as unconcerned as though there was not a hostile Indian within a hundred miles of them. Mr. Winters evidently partook of the old man’s indifference, for, after satisfying himself that his weapons were in readiness, he drew back beside his nephews, and said, with a smile: