In further discussion of their plans the three worthies spent the next hour or so. By that time it was dark, and the thin, silver nail-paring of the new moon showed above the eastern hilltops. It grew very still, the deep silence being broken only by the hoot of an owl or the chirping of some night insect.
Suddenly, and quite near at hand, a twig snapped loudly. Instantly the hands of each of the three flew to their weapons, but an instant later they perceived that they, at least, had no cause for alarm from the newcomer who had thus announced his arrival. It was an Indian that stood before them while they still stared in a startled way into the dark shadows.
"Chief Black Cloud!" exclaimed Clark, as the figure silently glided into the small circle, shrouded in the folds of a heavy blanket.
The chief had tied his pony some distance away, and had advanced with customary stealth on the camping place of his allies.
"How!" grunted the chief, squatting down on his haunches. "You want talk?"
"Well, that's the reason we lighted up our little wireless plant," grinned Hank.
"Hum! My brother with the hair on his face is foolish," snapped the chief, while the others laughed aloud at Hank's discomfiture. He did not again adopt a flippant tone toward the impressive figure which sat in council with them.
"Chief Black Cloud," began Clark, "in the Far Pasture of Harkness, the rancher, below the places of the dwellers in the cliff, are many young cattle. They are unbranded, and if we can cut them out and get them away we can all be rich—make heap money."
"Um!" grunted the chief, waiting for what was to come.
"Harkness and his men are all away, seeking for a lost boy——"