“Comrades!” said Seguin, “it is of no use to weary ourselves. Let those sleep who can. One can keep watch yonder while another stays up here. Go, Sanchez!” and the chief pointed down the ravine to a spot that commanded a view of its mouth.
The sentinel walked off, and took his stand in silence. The rest of us descended, and after looking to the muffling of our horses, returned to the station of the vidette upon the hill. Here we rolled ourselves in our blankets, and, lying down among the rocks, slept out the night.
We were awake before dawn, and peering through the leaves with feelings of keen solicitude.
There is no movement in the Indian camp. It is a bad indication. Had they intended to travel on, they would have been stirring before this. They are always on the route before daybreak. These signs strengthen our feelings of apprehension.
The grey light begins to spread over the prairie. There is a white band along the eastern sky. There are noises in the camp. There are voices. Dark forms move about among the upright spears. Tall savages stride over the plain. Their robes of skins are wrapped around their shoulders to protect them from the raw air of the morning.
They carry faggots. They are rekindling the fires!
Our men talk in whispers, as we lie straining our eyes to catch every movement.
“It’s plain they intend to make a stay of it.”
“Ay! we’re in for it, that’s sartin! Wagh! I wonder how long thar a-goin’ to squat hyar, any how.”