“If any ob de Injins try to sneak up, Al will be sure to see ’em; he’ll let me know in time to whirl ’bout and lambast ’em or――git out ob de way myself.” The neglectful guard found some comfort in another fact: he was gifted with an unusually keen sense of hearing, and believed his ears would tell him as much as his eyes. In the circumstances, however, when it is remembered that absolute silence is one of the features of Indian subtlety, this was the gravest of mistakes. By and by, Jethro swung back and resumed his first position, shifting his feet again as before. He stood so well toward the front that he could not see his friend, except by leaning forward and peering round the tail of the wagon. He took care to keep a position that shut him from Alden’s sight. “It’ll be jes’ like him to kick when he sees me standing with my back toward de Injins, and dere ain’t any use ob habing any quarrels at a time like dis.” When Jethro pivoted to the front for the third time, he held the position longer than usual. The situation was one which impressed even his dull nature. The moon near its full, had risen and shone upon the silent earth below. Ragged, white clouds swept slowly across the sky, like moving mountain peaks of snow. The orb was forever groping among these feathery masses, some of which were attenuated while others had enough body to eclipse the orb for a few minutes. This dodging into view and out again made the light uncertain. The shadows ran swiftly over the ground and whisked out of sight, then came a brief space of gloom, and then the illumination revealed objects with diminishing distinctness, for a hundred yards out on the plain. It was a night favorable for Indian cunning to do its work. The spring grass was tall enough to allow a warrior to steal through it while lying flat on his face, with little fear of detection, until he came close to the foe whom he was seeking to slay. If ever a sentinel needed all his wits it was on that night when more than half a dozen of them were guarding the emigrant train plodding its way to the distant Pacific coast. CHAPTER VI ABORIGINAL CUNNING Suddenly through the tomblike stillness brooding over camp and plain, came the dull sounds of rifle firing. Two shots were in quick succession, a third followed, then two more, after which all was as silent as before. The reports were apparently a half-mile to the northwest. Every one of the sentinels listened closely, but nothing further reached them. Jethro Mix snatched up his gun with a gasp and held his breath. Then he moved on tiptoe around the rear of the wagon to where Alden Payne stood tense and motionless as a statue. “Did you hear dat?” asked the negro in a husky whisper. “Of course.” “What do it mean?” “I can’t tell; we shall soon learn.” “Listen, Al!” The two did so for a few seconds, and then Alden said in an undertone: “I didn’t hear anything more; did you?” “Yas.”