"Shooting nothing!" cried Nort, and his voice was loud. "Those are signals from the Yaquis! Snake! Wake up! We're right close to the Indians!" he yelled.
CHAPTER IX
A LONE INDIAN
Less noise than that which issued from the excited throat of Nort would have been sufficient to arouse a larger camp than that of the cowboys on the trail of the Yaquis. Instantly every man in the party, not forgetting Bud who had been sleeping as soundly as any, was on the alert, gun in hand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other fist.
"What's up?" snarled Snake. He always did hate to rouse suddenly.
"Look!" cried Nort, pointing to the north, where, now and then, a shimmering light cut the blackness of the sky. "Dick says they're shooting stars, but I say Indian signals."
"They aren't shooting stars, that's sure!" declared Rolling Stone. "I've slept in the open too often, counting those same shooting stars, to be mistaken. They're signals of some kind!"
"But not Indians' signals," asserted Yellin' Kid.
"Whose then?" Nort wanted to know, satisfied that he had not awakened the camp in vain.
"They're rockets—or some sort of fire works," went on Dick. "First I thought they were shooting stars, but I can see now that they aren't. They're sky rockets or Roman candles."