"It looks as if this fellow Slade had set out to be our evil genius. We're always meeting him."
"Yes, sir, but we can take care of him. I don't specially mind this kind of fighting, Mr. Mason. We had to do a lot of it in the heavy timber on the slopes of some of them mountains out West, the names of which I don't know, and generally we had to go up against the Sioux and Northern Cheyennes, and them two tribes are king fighters, I can tell you. Man for man they're a match for anybody."
"Slade's men don't appear to be moving," said Shepard, who was on the other side of the sergeant.
"Not so's you could hear 'em," said Sergeant Whitley. "They heard us and they're creeping now so's to see what we are and then fall on us by surprise. Guess them that's kneeling had better bend down a little lower."
Warner, who had been crouched on his knees, lay down almost flat. He did not understand forests and darkness as Dick did, nor did he have the strong hereditary familiarity with them, and he felt uncomfortable and apprehensive.
"I don't like it," he said to Pennington. "I'd rather fight in the open."
"So would I," said Pennington. "It's awful to lie here and feel yourself being surrounded by dangers you can't see. I guess a man in the African wilderness stalked at night by a dozen hungry lions would feel just about as I do."
"I'm going to creep a little distance up the slope again," said the sergeant, "and try to spy 'em out."
"A good idea, but be very careful."
"I certainly will, Mr. Mason. I want to live."