Chapter Eighty Three.
A Circular Conflict.
Strange as it may seem, even in that hour these observations had interested me; but while making them I observed something that gratified me still more. It was the blue dawn that, mingling with the yellower light of the moon, affected the hue of the foliage upon which I had been gazing. Morning was about to break.
Others had noticed it at the same instant, and already the sleepers were rising from their dewy couch, and looking to the girths of their saddles.
We were a hungry band; but there was no hope of breakfast, and we prepared to start without it.
The dawn was of only a few minutes’ duration, and, as the sky continued to brighten, preparations were made for the start. The sentries were called in—all except four, who were prudently left to the last minute, to watch in four different directions. The horses were unpicketed and bridled—they had worn their saddles all night—and the guns of the party were carefully re-primed or capped.
Many of my comrades were old campaigners, and every precaution was taken that might influence our success in a conflict.
It was expected that before noon we should come up with the savages, or track them home to their lair. In either case, we should have a fight, and all declared their determination to go forwards.