[CHAPTER VI.]
Lost on the Prairie.
THE next morning, by the time the sun had risen, the travelers had eaten their breakfast, and were again on the move. The entire party was in high spirits. The trappers laughed and joked with each other, and pointed out to Mr. Winters the familiar objects that met their eye on every side, while the boys galloped on before, and in a few moments had left the wagon far behind. Their horses were in excellent trim, and bounded along over the prairie as if some of their riders’ spirits had been infused into them.
“I say, Frank,” said Archie, at length, suddenly drawing in his rein, “what if Dick was mistaken about the Indians all being gone, and a party of Comanches should suddenly pounce down on us? Wouldn’t we be in a fix? I declare, I see an Indian now,” he added; and, as he spoke, he pointed toward an object that could be dimly seen moving along the summit of a distant swell.
“That’s something, that’s a fact,” said Frank, gazing in the direction indicated; “but it don’t look like that Indian we saw the other day. If it was a Comanche, he wouldn’t move about and show himself so plainly. There’s another—and another,” he continued, as several more objects came over the brow of the hill. “Let us ride up a little nearer. If they are Indians, we can easily reach the wagon before they can overtake us.”
“Well, come on,” said Archie. “If we should get into a fight all by ourselves, and come safely out of it, it would be something to talk about, wouldn’t it?”
The boys rode cautiously toward the objects, which were still increasing in number, holding themselves in readiness to beat a hasty retreat in case they should prove to be Indians, until they had gone about half a mile, when Frank suddenly exclaimed:
“They are antelopes!”