Have you seen a pointer dog prick up his ears suddenly? That was the way Indian did.
"A plot?" said one of the yearlings. "A plot did you say? What is it? Tell me? I'll come in!"
"S-sh!" said the other. "Do you swear eternal secrecy, swear it by the bones of the saints?"
"I swear!" growled the other in a low, sepulchral voice. "Out with it!"
"All the fellows know," continued the other. "They'll all help. But not the plebes! Do you hear? Not a word to the plebes! If any plebe should hear he'd surely tell on us, and that would ruin us. He might do it, you know, for he'd get no end of reward. They might even promote him, make him a yearling."
Indian's little fat heart was bounding with delight. A plot! And he knew it! Ye gods! Bless my soul! He crept close to the wall of his tent, straining eyes and ears to listen, not to lose the faintest sound of this most important news.
"It must be something desperate," gasped the other.
"Yes, it is. S-sh! You'll nearly drop I know when I tell you. We're——"
Indian's eyes were like walnuts, half out of his head.
"We're going," continued the yearling, slowly, "we're going to beat the general!"