"Wal; there's eleven of you, and that's a big help; we shan't say no," said the head trapper. "They might come to-night; might not come for another six months. You needn't fear for your men's rations; they won't starve." When bed-time came, Wise posted five sentries, who were to be relieved after four hours' duty, and went to the hut set aside for him with his mind at ease. He was in his first sleep, when he became drowsily conscious that the report of a rifle was fitting itself into his dreams. Too tired after his long march to be much affected by it, he was sleeping peacefully on, when the familiar, hoarse voice of the boatswain roused him effectually. "Guard, turn out!--All hands on deck; come on, there." Sailor-like, he was on his feet and into his boots in a couple of seconds, and was running out, sword in hand, before the cry could be repeated. "Hy-yah; hy-yah!" someone was shouting; and the boatswain was answering grimly: "Yes; _we'll_ 'hy-yah' ye. Git off'n them horses will ye?" By the firelight Wise could make out three mounted Indians, a fourth on foot, and, near him, a dead horse that had, no doubt, fallen before the sentry's rifle. Around them stood his ten sailors, every man with his rifle covering one or other of the redskins; while the trappers, less accustomed to abrupt night-calls, appeared more slowly, rubbing their eyes and cocking their guns. "Hy-yah! Hy-yah, Mason!" Again the high-pitched nasal voice. The head trapper, who came stumbling out of his hut, shouted a few words in the Shoshonee dialect, and, immediately after: "Don't fire, there; don't let 'em fire, Mr. Wise; they've copped the wrong men. These are friends; Comanches," and a great laugh from the trappers echoed over the camp. "I challenged 'em first," said the sentry who had fired. "How was _I_ to know who they was?" Mason, the chief trapper, spoke for a moment or two with the redskin who had hailed him; then signed to him and his companions to take their seats by the fire. "Stop here, Lootenant, will you? They want to have a bit of a palaver with us." As they dismounted, Wise could see that the Comanches were tall, well-made men, very different from the Creeks and Choctaws of the Atlantic coast. All had moccasins, and three of them wore sleeveless jackets of leather; while the fourth was habited in a magnificent "buffalo" robe. Each had either the tail of a polecat or a bunch of leather snippings in lieu of it, tied to either heel; the front half of their moccasins was painted blue, the other half red. But what struck the officer most forcibly was the remarkable thickness and length of the Indians' hair, which descended almost to their heels. Alas for human vanity; three parts of those tresses were false; their own hair and somebody else's, together with a liberal supply of horses' tails, were all matted together with fat, and secured at the top by their feather head-dresses.