I wonder if they'd hurt us, Tad?"
"I don't know. I do know, though, that I wouldn't trust those ugly
faces one second. I thought the Blackfeet were savage, but they're not
to be compared with these redskins."
A full dozen of them had, by this time, come into view. They sat
huddled on their ponies, their painted faces just appearing above the
gayly colored blankets in which they were enveloped.
"They must be cold," muttered Chunky. "Shouldn't think they'd need bed
clothes around them this time of the year."
"Not so loud, Chunky," warned Tad.
"Know what they are, Tad?"
"I wouldn't say positively, but somehow they look to me like Apaches."
Tad's surmise was correct. The twelve warriors were members of the
savage band that had in past years caused the Government so much
trouble and bloodshed.
"They're off their reservation, if they are Apaches," whispered the
lad.
"What does that indicate, Tad?"
"I don't know. They may be on the warpath; then, again, they may be
down here after game. I'm not sure even, if there is any game here.
We'll lie still until they get by us. That's the best plan; don't you
think so?"
"Yes."
"Lie perfectly still, Chunky. The little bushes in front of us will
screen us, providing we don't move about. Indians have quick eyes,
though they do look as if they were half asleep."
"They're getting off their horses, Tad. What does that mean?"
"I don't know.
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