“Yes; we’ve had the leaders of that thing down here,” said Jack. “But the movement was not among the tribes here on the southwestern border.”
“Ugh!” said Running Elk; and there was that about his exclamation which said he was not quite sure upon the point in question.
“Suppose,” said Frank, “we leave our horses tied here, and move a little nearer to the Indian camp. There may be something going on that will be worth knowing.”
“All right,” agreed Jack, willingly enough. “I’m always curious to learn what the reds are up to myself.”
So the boys saw to their mounts, and the pack animal; then with their long rifles in the hollows of their arms, and Running Elk with his bow ready strung and his quiver of arrows handy for use, they moved quietly forward in the direction of the now intermittent sound.
There was no moon that night; the sky was without stars; nevertheless there came a soft coppery glow through the low hanging clouds which enabled them to make their way along without any great difficulty. But finally the beat of the drum ceased.
“We’ll locate them by the camp-fire,” whispered Jack Davis to Frank. “See, there it is, ahead among the trees.”
Softly their moccasined feet padded the earth; carefully, noiselessly they advanced, flitting from tree to tree, from bush to bush. Because they were in the heart of their own country, the Creeks evidently had no fear of attack; therefore they had placed no sentinels about the camp. And because of this the boys found it possible to approach near enough to get a good view of the encampment through the open places in the tangle of brush.
In a circle sat a score of savages, each wearing a highly ornamental head-dress of colored feathers; their faces were streaked with paints of various colors and they passed a long stemmed, ornamented pipe from one to the other.
“Hello,” breathed Jack, his accustomed eye taking in the unusual features of the scene at a glance. “What does this mean?”