“They’re not done yet, colonel,” said he. “The Comanche is a fighting Injun, and it takes a good bit to make him change his mind, once he’s taken to the war-path.”
“I didn’t hear nothing ’bout them being at war with the whites,” remarked one of the men.
“No more did I,” said Dolph. “But, then, you can never tell. They are always rising. Let some rascal of a white man cheat a Comanche at a trading place and that Injun goes and tells his friends. Like as not, a small war follows, until they think they’ve got satisfaction.”
“Well, that might be what this is,” said Crockett, his eyes upon the party of savages which had come to a halt about a half mile out upon the prairie and were listening, apparently, to the eloquence of a chief. “But I’ve got an idea of my own.”
“What’s that?” asked the Texan.
“These redskins had some of their people in Nacogdoches last night and they were watching for some small party that was to leave the town. We happened to be that party. It’s my idea they have taken a leaf from the white man’s book, and are nothing more or less than robbers.”
Old Dolph nodded.
“Well,” said he, “I’ve heard of them doing things like that before now. But, whatever they’re after, they mean to give it another try.”
As he spoke the Texan pointed out across the prairie. The Comanches had remounted and were riding forward in an open fashion, their bows and rifles held ready for use. But at some distance from the grove they halted; dismounting, they made their ponies lie down. Then stretched at full length behind this living breastwork, they leveled their guns, and fitted arrows to their bows.
From behind trees and logs, the white men watched the preparations of the savages.