“Yes,” called down George, “there is quite a party, probably fifty or more—it is hard to tell at this distance.”
“Do you see any huts?” asked John.
After a pause, he answered: “No; nothing I can distinguish. It looks to me as though this is very near the place we had our first skirmish, and what seems peculiar is that when we were here before something like huts were visible in that direction.”
George was quiet for a time, when he continued: “Do you remember that after we crossed the river we made our way somewhat to the west and ascended a hill that had large trees on it. I mean the place where we had the second day’s fight, when we started for the West River?”
“That describes the place exactly. Can you see that? What we took for the villages was directly to the south of that point.”
“There are no villages there now.”
“How near that place are the people you see?”
“Directly to the east, probably less than a mile.”
“Then that is our objective point,” said John.
The time for action had come. All was excitement, but it was one mixed with a determination which meant business. The wagon was put in motion, and headed directly for the river. Before two o’clock the stream was crossed, and waiting only long enough to water the yaks, they were urged forward at a feverish speed.