Signs?
Yes, danger signs. Wild, dark, painted horsemen, riding hither and thither and nearer and nearer, growing more and more numerous every moment.
These were the signs that Many Bears and his warriors meant to stand between any approaching enemy and the camp of their squaws and children.
The shout was from Murray.
"Don't shoot!"
In a few seconds more the old man was reining in his panting mustang among the startled and gloomy-faced miners.
"Where did you drop from?" was the cool, steady question of Skinner.
"Never you mind. Is Bill here?"
"He and his two mates are on guard at the camp. I know ye now. You're them two mining fellers. You met Bill and—"
"Yes, I met Bill, but there's no time for talk now. You take your men straight back to camp. It's the only show you've got left."