At the behest of Lieutenant Clark, Bill Brown, Bright Star and Tom Gordon went up the trail, scouting in the twilight. The three scouts came back, after a while, and reported that nothing could be found on the prairie to the north. There seemed no danger of a night attack, and the men could probably sleep undisturbed till the morning; although double guards would be posted as a precaution, now that they were in the very heart of the Indian domain.
This first detail of guards had hardly begun its rounds, however, when one of them, on the down river side of camp, detected the sound of voices to the south. There was silence for a few moments, and then the anxious guard again heard a distant shout or two. He at once passed the word along to summon Lieutenant Clark.
“What’s the trouble, Jones?” asked the officer tersely,—as he hurried up with Bill Brown, whom he had hastily aroused from sleep.
“Voices down the trail to the south, sir,” said the guard.
The three listened intently for a moment. Again there came a distant call, followed by an answering whoop from farther away.
“Those are white men,” asserted Bill. “I’ll vouch fer that.”
“I think so, Bill; but at any rate we’d best be cautious.”
“Well spoken, Left’nant.”
“Now, Jones,” went on the officer, “we’ll hold our tongues for the time being. When those fellows, whoever they be, advance within ten paces or so, challenge them. Is that clear?”
“It is, sir. Yes, sir.”