Without attempting to awaken his comrade Dacres dropped on his knees and watched. His sleepiness had temporarily vanished. He was now in full possession of his mental and bodily faculties.
"Horsemen, by Jove!" he muttered. "Indians probably. I'll keep well out of sight and perhaps they will pass by at a safe distance."
The riders were approaching rapidly: not from the direction Dacres and his companion had come, but from the south-east. If they maintained their present course they would pass about two hundred yards from the place where the travellers lay concealed.
Presently one of the riders reined up. His example was followed by the rest of the group. They sat on their horses like living statues, awaiting their leader's orders.
The Englishman was right in his surmise. They were Indians of the plains, more than half savages, born horsemen and crafty fighters. Most of them were naked save for a piece of hide round their waists and descending nearly to their knees. They were all armed with long knives, while, in addition, some carried spears of about ten feet in length and others had bolas coiled up ready to throw at any moment.
They evidently were suspicious. It seemed incredible that even their sharp eyes could detect the presence of the two men crouched in the long grass, but Dacres came to the uncomfortable conclusion that the Indians were about to advance towards the spot where he and his companion lay hidden.
Dacres grasped the sleeping Frenchman gently and firmly by the hand. The pressure caused him to open his eyes and to become wide awake without a spasmodic start that would have inevitably betrayed them.
"Indians!" he whispered.
Henri rolled over, then quietly raising his head peered between two tall tufts of grass. Without replying he deliberately drew his revolver.
Presently the horsemen—there were eleven of of them—broke into two parties and galloped towards the two Europeans, yet sufficiently apart to pass within fifty yards on either side.