She discovered at last that they had established themselves at the base of a gigantic bowlder embedded in the side of the hill. The smoke of their little fire was rising over the top. Loseis, descending from above, worked her body by slow degrees out on top of the bowlder, where she lay perfectly hidden, about fifteen feet above their heads. It would have been too risky to attempt to peep over the edge of the stone, but whether she could see them was immaterial to her, so she could hear.
Her cautious progress around the hillside had consumed a good bit of time, and when she arrived above the camp it was still. For a long time she could hear nothing but the uneasy nosing of the horses, that had no forage in that spot. They must have been tied, for they did not move about. Loseis knew the men were still below her, for she detected a faint aroma of tobacco, apart from the fumes of burning pine. At last, startlingly, Gault’s quiet voice resolved itself out of the stillness. He might have been speaking to herself.
“No, don’t put any more on. If any of the Slavis happen to be traveling up on the bench, the smoke would attract them. Just keep it going until we’re ready to eat.”
Moale asked: “When will you eat?”
Gault replied: “We can only eat once. Put it off until evening.”
Then silence again. Loseis feared that that which she so desired to hear must already have been talked out between them.
By and by she heard a horse single-footing it rapidly in the trail.
“Here comes Watusk,” said Moale.
From the sounds which succeeded Loseis made out that Musqua had been stationed alongside the trail to intercept Watusk. They could presently be heard approaching with the horse, through the trees below. As soon as they were within speaking distance Gault said sharply:
“Well?”