"What are you doing here?"
"We hunt."
They got off their horses, and led them in nearer; then they smiled friendly, and sat down and rolled themselves smokes. The lieutenant and Stub warily sat down, opposite. It was a little council. Stub eyed the Indian. He was a tame Indian—one of the house-building Indians from the south: a Pueblo.
"What do you hunt?" asked Lieutenant Pike.
"Game, señor. Do you hunt, also?"
"We travel down the Red River, to the American fort of Natchitoches."
"Another stranger has arrived, in Santa Fe. His name is Robinson. He is an American. The governor received him well. He comes from your party?"
"There is no such man in my party," the lieutenant answered; which was true, now.
Presently he arose. It was difficult talking by signs and short words.
"A Díos, señores. A pleasant journey to you."
"One moment, señor," begged the dragoon. "Where is your camp?"
"It is far; we have several camps. So good-by."
He and Stub started on. But the dragoon and the Indian mounted their horses and followed. They were determined to find the camp.
