“I thought it was the whinny of a horse,” replied the impetuous one of the pair, as they dropped behind some brush that grew on the brow of a gradual slope leading to a lower level.
“And it came from below us, too. What could a horse be doing here? Do you think any of our men are out after fresh meat to-day?”
“There are a few horses among some of the Indian tribes around here, and it might be—there, look, something is coming yonder, Dick!”
“Don’t move again, Roger; it is an Indian brave, and there follows another, treading in his trail.”
“They are not of our friends, the Mandans, Dick, and they don’t look like the Sioux we met a while ago. There come three more, and now I can see the horse!”
“H’sh! Not a whisper now, and lie as still as a rock. They have sharp eyes, even if they are not on the warpath.”
Roger knew why his cousin made this last remark, for the horse was dragging two poles after him, the ends of which trailed on the ground. Upon this primitive wagon rested quite a pile of stuff, evidently the skin teepee of the family and other articles, as well as a buxom squaw and a small papoose.
Back of the first horse came a second, similarly equipped, and then another tall, half-naked brave, armed with bow and arrows. Dick knew that the little procession was a portion of some Indian community moving their camp to a place where the game would be more abundant, for this was the season when they laid in their winter store of jerked venison or “pemmican.”
“Don’t move yet, Roger,” whispered Dick, after the last figure had gone some little distance along the trail; “I believe there is another party coming. Yes, I can already see them a little way back there. Just crouch down and watch.”
While the two boys are lying hidden, and waiting for the passage of the hostile Indians, belonging to some tribe with which they hitherto had had no dealings, we might take advantage of the opportunity to ascertain just who Dick and Roger Armstrong are, and what they could be doing in this unknown region, far back in 1804, when the headwaters of the Missouri had never been fully explored by any white man.