The question was put to his comrade, ’Lije, while the discussion was in progress.
“Thur air a alturnative,” was the answer addressed to all, though to none who so welcomed it as his young friend.
“What other way?” demanded several voices, O’Neil’s being the first heard.
“You see them mountings?” said ’Lije, pointing to a range that had just opened to their view.
“Sartin; we ain’t all; blind,” replied one of the men. “What about them?”
“You see that hill that sticks out thur, wi’ the trees on top o’t, jest like the hump o’ a buffler bull.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Clost by the bottom o’ that, them Injuns air camped—that be, ef this chile hain’t made a mistake ’bout thar intenshuns. We’ll find ’em thur, I reck’n.”
“But how are we to approach the place without their spying us? There ain’t a bit o’ cover on the prairie for miles round.”
“But there air kiver on the mounting itself,” rejoined ’Lije. “Plenty o’ tree kiver, as ye kin see.”