Chapter Ten.
Changed Hostilities.
The freshly arrived horsemen, instead of alighting, remained seated in their saddles.
For a time neither spoke, though their silence might be for want of breath. Both were panting, as were also the horses that bore them.
“Theer’s somethin’ wrong, ’Lije Orton,” said Black Harris, after saluting an old comrade. “I can tell that by yur looks, as well’s by the purspiration on yur anymal. ’Tain’t often as you put the critter in such a sweet. What is it, ole hoss? Yeller belly, or Injun? It can’t be white.”
“White’s got somethin’ to do wi’ it,” replied the old trapper, having somewhat recovered his wind. “But Injun more.”
“Thar’s a riddle, boys! Which o’ ye kin read it? ’Splain yurself, ’Lije.”
“Thar ain’t much explinashin needed; only that a party o’ emigrants hez been attackted on Bijou Crik, an’ maybe all on ’em killed, fur as this chile kin tell.”