"Those are soldiers. They have got swords and guns," repeated Russ confidently. "And I guess they are American soldiers, too."
"Well, they are not Indians, anyway," agreed Rose. "I guess they won't hurt us, anyway. We can go by 'em. Don't be afraid, Mun Bun."
"Not 'fwaid," declared the littlest Bunker. "But I want to see muvver and daddy."
"Sure you do," agreed Russ kindly. "Guess we all do. Come on. I'm going to tell that man riding ahead what the Indians are doing to those folks at the cabin."
They could still hear faintly the yells of the supposed savages behind the hill, down which the little Bunkers had just run. This noise did not seem to disturb the men in blue, who trotted their horses along the wagon track in a most leisurely manner.
The six little Bunkers stood off the track as the soldiers rode nearer. The chains on the horses' bits jangled, and the sun flashed from the barrels of the short guns and from the sword hilts. The men wore broad-brimmed hats with yellow cords around them, and one of the men riding ahead, who was an officer, wore a plume on the side of his hat.
"It's more than Indians that wear feather headdresses," whispered Vi to Rose. "So why do they?"
Like a number of Vi's other questions, this one remained unanswered. When the head of the procession came up Russ began to speak quite excitedly to the man leading it:
"Please, Mister Officer! There are Indians over that hill. Don't you hear them? And they are going to hurt some white people I guess."
"There's a baby," added Rose earnestly. "I wouldn't want the baby to be scalped."