“I’m quite certain of that,” responded Larry, meaningly.
And nothing occurred during the afternoon’s ride to change a resolution he had made on a certain point.
It was decided not to halt for lunch, the travelers contenting themselves with crackers, dried beef, and a drink of water from their canteens.
At last the half-breed leader left the creek bottom and struck off once more through the bunch grass toward a third range of thickly-timbered hills.
On reaching them the boys this time found no convenient pass through which they might file. The odor of the fragrant balsam and fir filling the air, with other sweet scents from leaves and grass, was very delightful to inhale, and the cool bluish shadows trailing over the ground an agreeable change from the glare of the open spaces.
For the last hour the boys had carried on very little conversation. Larry himself felt too hot and miserable to utter a word. He was, therefore, totally unprepared for the view which met his eye upon reaching the top of the hills.
Down in a basin, or, rather, amphitheater, enclosed on three sides by the tree-grown slopes, he saw a large collection of Indian teepees. It was a sight which almost made him join in the exultant shout which came from Tom Clifton’s lips.
CHAPTER V
THE INDIAN VILLAGE
“Hooray—Cree village!” cried Tom.
“Yes,” assented the half-breed. “Soon you see Wandering Bear, much big chief, old as a withered tree, but strong.”