They rode on for a couple of miles, having no difficulty in following the trail, until they reached the brow of a small eminence. Here they were greeted with a sight that startled them. A group of a dozen Indians were reclining on the grass, with their horses fastened near them. Startled as they were, they detected the animal of which they were in search among the Indian horses.
"We've walked into a trap with our eyes open, Tom," said Scott, halting his horse mechanically. His bronzed face was a little pale, for he knew well the character of the savages before him, the hopelessness of escape, and the terrible fate that probably awaited them.
"Shall we turn and fly, Mr. Scott?" asked Tom hurriedly.
"It would be of no use, Tom. We must stay and face the music."
Upon the appearance of the two friends the Indians had sprung to their feet, and the colloquy was scarcely over before there was an Indian at each bridle-rein. They made signs, easily understood, for Tom and Scott to dismount.
"Stop a minute," said Scott, with creditable coolness, considering the great peril in which he knew himself to be. "Is there any one here who speaks English?"
An elderly Indian stepped forward quickly, and said, "Speak, white man. I speak English a little."
"Good," said Scott; "then I want you to tell your friends here that I came after a horse that left our camp last night. Do you understand?"
The Indian inclined his head.
"There he is," continued Scott, pointing with his finger to Dan. "Give him to me, and I will go away."