CHAPTER IV
A NOTE OF WARNING AT THE SPRING HOLE
"Pull up, Bob; I sure glimpsed something moving, out there in the sage
brush!"
Both horses came to an immediate stop as the bridles were drawn taut.
"Which way, Frank?" asked the Kentucky lad, eagerly, as he threw back
his shock of black hair, and waited to see where the finger of his
companion would point.
"Whatever it was disappeared behind that spur of the low foot hills
yonder. I just caught a peep of the last of it. Here, Bob, take the
glasses, and wait to see if it shows up again on the other side of the
rise," and Frank thrust the binoculars into the hand of his chum.
"Think it could have been a prowling coyote; or perhaps a bunch of
antelope feeding on the sweet grass around some spring hole, as you
were telling me they do?" asked Bob, holding himself in readiness.
"Well," returned Frank, quickly, "the sun was in my eyes some, you see,
and so I wouldn't like to be too sure; but somehow, Bob, I just have a
notion that it was a horse."
"With a rider on it, of course!" exclaimed the other lad, as he raised
the glasses to his eyes, training them on the further end of the squat
elevation that stood up in the midst of the sage level like a great
hump on a camel.
"There, looks like I was right, Bob!" ejaculated Frank, a minute or so
later, as something came out from behind the low hill, moving steadily
onward.
"Indians! as sure as anything!" fell from the lips of the one who held
the field glasses to his eyes.
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