"Indians!" was the short reply. Henry peeped carefully forth. "Yes, sir, Indians, just as sure as you are born. Look for yourself."
"By the king, but you're right!" exclaimed Dave, in excitement. "Two, three—I see four of them."
"I think I saw a fifth behind that rock to the right. Yes, there he is."
"Can you make out what they are?"
"No, excepting that they are none of White Buffalo's tribe."
"If they don't belong in this neighborhood they are here for no good," said Dave, decidedly.
"I agree with you there, Dave. Possibly they are on a hunt. But why should they come here when there is better game further west?"
"If they are on a hunt it's not for wild animals," came from Dave, significantly. "Have they got their war paint on?"
"I can't see them clearly enough for that."
For several minutes both youths remained silent, watching the distant Indians as they moved around. They had evidently killed some wild animal, although what it was the watchers could not make out.
"If they shot anything it must have been before we reached this neighborhood," said Henry, presently. "I heard no reports."
