"Do you see any thing, Tobe?" asked Wilson, uneasily, glancing at the guide.
"Yas—a plenty, but nothin' to git skeered at, as I knows on. I don't see ary a red. Reckon we gi' them the dirty shake last night."
"I hope so. But will it be safe to rest a bit? The women need it, and so do the animals. A bite of food will do no harm—though we have no water."
"I don't know but 'twould be best. We must stop some time, an' now 's jest as good a time 's any. Thar at thet motte yander, we'll stop. Thar's a good spring, too. So we'll not go thusty," said Castor, indicating a small clump of timber some few hundred yards before them.
The fugitives were now upon a ridge, whose hight afforded them a fair view of the country, and while Castor spoke, his eyes were keenly scrutinizing the prairie beyond. He suddenly paused, with a cry of angry dismay.
"What is it, Tobe?" cried Stevens, gliding forward.
"Looky yander!—Injuns, by the 'tarnal!" hissed the old ranger, as he extended an arm before him.
Thus directed, the gaze of the party was riveted upon an alarming sight. And as they gazed, their hearts sunk within them, for they saw that Castor was right.
Upon a ridge at perhaps a half-mile distance, could plainly be distinguished a number of footmen, whose wild aspect as their plumed and ornamented crests rose above the tall, still grass, told they were indeed savages. Their number could not be much less than a score; perhaps more.
"Let's get out of sight in the hollow," muttered Stevens as he sprung to the head of Annie's horse. "Quick! before they see us!"