“Shew!” whistled Mustang Max. “That is a council.”
“What for?” asked the outpost.
“To decide whether they had better tackle us again or not,” said the guide. “They got a decent dose this morning, you see, and they don’t feel over and above sure of being able to scalp us.”
“I see.”
They lay perfectly still, and watched the camp of the enemy.
It was nearly a quarter of a mile from them, and in the pale light of the stars but very little could be made out with any degree of surety.
But Max could see the council pipe as it circulated, and he knew that the crisis would soon be reached.
“Only I hope they’ll keep off until Frank Reade gets here,” said the guide.
While he watched the pipe it suddenly went out of sight.
“Council’s over,” said Max. “Now we’ll see what the verdict is.”