“Indians?” asked Roger, to make sure.
“Yes. A party has just passed along the ridge. It was just our luck that they took this place to come over the hogback, Roger.”
“You saw them, did you?” demanded Roger.
“I did that; and counted seventeen,” replied Dick, impressively; “all stepping in each other’s tracks. One must have started a stone rolling down, for its clatter made me look up. They went past like ghosts, and vanished below the rim, still heading that way.”
“Ugh! you mean in the direction of our first camp, don’t you, Dick? Then that lone hunter must have sighted us, even if he did pretend not to. How wise you were to change camps. Seventeen, you say; what could two boys do against that many braves? What next, Dick? I’m ready to do anything you say. Must we push on again, do you think?”
“Yes, because when they find that the birds have flown they will surely look this way for us. By that time we ought to be miles off.”
They set about making the move without more delay, though not hurrying in such a manner as to invite discovery through neglect of precautions.
The poor horses no doubt thought it pretty hard that they should be made to start out afresh without even a nap; but they were patient beasts and had no way of expressing their opinions, or showing signs of mutiny at being made to work overtime.
Once again did the boys lead the animals, for the darkness was too intense to trust to keeping their eyes so far away from the ground, when there was so much necessity for their discovering the presence of logs and pitfalls before the horses stumbled. Roger, if left to himself, would possibly have climbed into his saddle, and trusted to the instinct of his animal to detect obstacles in the way, but Dick was too cautious for that.
So they plodded on. It was weary work, but the knowledge that a deadly peril lurked near inspired the boys to endure the fatigue bravely.