Lydia shivered. "Don't they look fierce in the firelight," she murmured. "Let's get out of here, Kent."
"Shucks! Be a sport, Lyd! We'll watch them a minute, then I'll brace up and speak to 'em."
There were six half breeds in "store" clothes and moccasins squatting around the blaze. None of them was speaking.
"They act as if they were waiting for some one," whispered Lydia, with some of the old thrill of pirate plays returning to her. "Kent, they've all got guns!"
"Hush! There comes some one else. For the love of cats!"
John Levine emerged from the darkness of the forest into the fire glow.
"How!" he grunted, slipping into an empty space, opposite the two eavesdroppers.
"How," returned the Indians.
Silence in the woods, except for the crackling fire.
"Kent, let's go! I don't want to listen, I don't want to know." The cold sweat was standing on Lydia's forehead.