CHAPTER VI
ABORIGINAL CUNNING
SUDDENLY through the tomblike stillness brooding over camp and plain, came the dull sounds of rifle firing. Two shots were in quick succession, a third followed, then two more, after which all was as silent as before.
The reports were apparently a half-mile to the northwest. Every one of the sentinels listened closely, but nothing further reached them.
Jethro Mix snatched up his gun with a gasp and held his breath. Then he moved on tiptoe around the rear of the wagon to where Alden Payne stood tense and motionless as a statue.
“Did you hear dat?” asked the negro in a husky whisper.
“Of course.”
“What do it mean?”
“I can’t tell; we shall soon learn.”
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