He looked up from his work and their eyes met.
“Don’t bother,” he said; “we will use the oil stove.”
And without further explanation the camp was arranged. There was no bustle or excitement. Yet each member of that little party, with the exception of the child, knew that the camp had been made in emergency—grave emergency.
A hearty meal was partaken of. Then the man and the scout disappeared. The others occupied themselves around the camp. The afternoon wore on. At tea the scout and his companion reappeared. The wife still asked no verbal questions. Her eyes told her all she wished to know.
During the evening meal little Marjorie made a discovery.
“Mamma,” she exclaimed, “you’ve got a belt on like daddy’s. What are these?” And she fingered a revolver holster, of which her mother’s belt supported two.
It was the rough, long-haired scout who saved the woman a deliberate falsehood.
“Guess them’s playthings,” he said, with a sombre laugh. “B’t don’t figger they’re fer kiddies to monkey with.”
After supper the man and the scout again disappeared. Three hours later the moon was high in the starlit sky. It was a glorious summer moon, and the whole country was bright with its silvery light. 24
Two men were lying upon their stomachs conning the northwestern sky-line.