"One--two--three--a heap of the reds in that bunch, I reckon," muttered
Frank, watching with his naked eye; although the distance, separating
them from the spot where the figures were passing steadily into view,
was considerable.
"Say, these glasses are jim-dandy ones, all right!" remarked Bob,
presently, as he turned to offer them to his chum, who immediately
clapped them to his own eyes.
"Huh!" grunted Frank a moment later, "squaws along; each cayuse
dragging poles on which they heap their lodges, blankets and such;
reckon there's no war party about that, Bob."
"I should think not, if what you've told me about the Indians is a
fact, Frank. But look here, what d'ye suppose they're doing so far
away from their reservation?" and Bob gripped his quirt, which hung, as
usual, from his wrist, in cowboy fashion; and with a nervous slash cut
off the tops of the rattlesnake weed within reach.
"That's where you've got me, Bob," replied the one who had been brought
up on a ranch, and who was supposed to know considerable about the life
of the plains; "unless they've just got desperate for a good old hunt,
and broke loose. Pretty soon the pony soldiers will come galloping
along, round 'em up, and chase the lot back to their quarters. Uncle
Sam is kind, and winks at a heap; but he won't stand for the Injuns
skipping out just when the notion takes 'em."
They sat there in their saddles a while longer, watching the long
procession pass out beyond the low hill, and track along the plain
through the scented purple sage.
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