"He meant that it was going to snow," replied the hunter. "But I can read the signs like a book, and I know it won't snow for a week yet. But even if it does storm, we don't care, for we shall be in Julesburg to-morrow."
With this answer, Eben tried to turn the conversation into another channel, but the boys, being terribly frightened, could talk about nothing but Indians, and speculate upon their chances of reaching a place of safety.
The hunter stood it as long as he could, and then said, almost savagely:
"If there were Injuns about, you wouldn't see so many single wagons along the road. The emigrants would wait for one another, and make up a strong train, so that they could defend themselves."
Leon, who had all faith in the hunter, was somewhat reassured by these words, but Frank's terror increased every time he recalled the sergeant's warning.
Just before dark they passed a camp on the bank of a little stream, and Frank urged Eben to stop there, so that they could have company during the night; but the hunter, following his usual custom, rode by at a gallop, and as Leon went with him, Frank had to follow or be left alone.
"I can't stand this any longer, and I won't, either," said Frank to himself, as he galloped along behind his companions. "But after all, I don't see how I am going to help myself. I have waited and watched for an opportunity to get my hands on that money ever since we left St. Joe, and I haven't seen a ghost of a chance."
Frank was almost ready to cry with vexation and alarm. He did not know what to do; but as it happened, a way was most unexpectedly opened for him to carry out his plans that very night.
Eben kept his horse in a gallop until the emigrant's camp was left at least five miles behind, and then, drawing rein in a little clump of willows, announced that they would stop there until morning.
The weary boys swung themselves from their saddles, and set about the performance of certain duties that had been assigned them when the journey first began.