“Perhaps Shoshones. You remember Captain Lewis told us we were likely to run upon some of that warlike tribe at any time now. Yes, and he remarked that, as a rule, they were enemies to the Blackfeet, Crows, Flat Heads, Dacotahs, and nearly every other tribe up in the Northwest.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if you have hit on the truth, Roger, and that this war party turns out to be fierce Shoshones. Our good friend, Captain Lewis, said he hoped to make friends of them, since we must pass through their country before striking the great mountains.”
“There, we are going on again, Dick, but notice how the braves keep looking to the right and to the left, as if they feared an ambush. The Shoshones must be a fierce lot of fighters, or else be in overpowering numbers.”
“I think, if I can read an Indian’s mind,” said Dick presently, “these braves will make an early camp. If they start a fire at all it will be only a small one without smoke, and hidden in a hole, so that its light will not betray them.”
“Then there’s a poor chance for supper, I take it,” grumbled Roger, who, having a splendid appetite, did not fancy going hungry, or chewing on a tough piece of pemmican, or jerked venison.
“You often complain of things being dull, Roger; but I am sure you must admit there’s no lack of excitement for us now. We are prisoners in the hands of the hostile Indians; there is a storm threatening; and now comes a chance that, before morning, the camp may be attacked by these Shoshones who are out looking for plunder and scalps.”
“If they should come, Dick, what do you suppose would happen to us?”
Roger felt rather anxious, for he had heard it said that among Indians it was the custom to kill their prisoners rather than have them rescued, or taken away by a rival tribe.
“If I can carry out my plans,” Dick assured him, “I don’t mean to wait until the camp is attacked. I’d like to be miles on the way back to the river before that comes to pass, if it really does.”