"Signs of hostile bands comin', young William?"
"No, not that, but signs where they have passed, skeletons of those whom they have slain, just beyond the bushes there, picked clean, white and glistening. Come with me and see!"
The others, who heard, went also, and the men looked reflectively at the scene.
"I've seen its like often," said Boyd. "The emigrants push on, straight into the Indian country. Neither hardships, nor troops, nor the Indians themselves can stop 'em. Wherever a party is cut off, two come to take its place. I guess this group was surprised, and killed without a chance to fight back."
"How do you know that?" asked Will.
"'Cause the wagons are turned over. That shows that the horses were still hitched to 'em, when the firin' from ambush began, and in their frightened struggles tipped 'em on one side. Suppose we go through 'em."
"What for, Jim?"
"This must have been done at least a couple of months ago. The weather-beaten canvas covers and the general condition of the wagons show that. War not being then an open matter the Indians might have hurried away without making a thorough overhauling. Then, too, it might have been done by wandering Piegans or Blackfeet or Northern Cheyennes, who, knowing they were on Sioux territory, were anxious to get away with their spoil as quickly as they could."
"Good sound reasonin', Jim," said the Little Giant, "an' we'll shorely take a good look through them wagons."
The wagons, as usual with those crossing the plains, contained many little boxes and lockers and secret places, needful on such long journeys, and they searched minutely through every square inch of the interior space. The Indians had not been so bad at the sack themselves, but they found several things of value, some medicines in a small locker, two saws, several gimlets and other tools, and under a false bottom in one of the wagons, which the sharp eye of the Little Giant detected, a great mat filled with coffee, containing at least one hundred pounds.