They pressed on as rapidly as possible, trying hard to steady their frayed nerves; but the two white boys were conscious that even the taciturn Bright Star was upset by the incident. He feared that the mummies swinging in the trees were those of hereditary enemies of his tribe. This invasion of their sacred resting place might bring down upon the trio a dreadful curse. At the best, it most certainly was not a good omen. CHAPTER 4 The Midnight Council Soon after the nerve-shaken boys had left the gruesome Indian burial ground, Bright Star’s roving eye caught a pin-point of flame far down the shore. He quickly announced his discovery to Ben and Tom. At first they believed it to be a brilliant star, low on the horizon, but a longer look convinced them that it was a real, earthly light. “Prob’ly the flame from a fire,” declared Tom. “I only hope so,” Ben answered. “This night air is on the chilly side. It’ll feel good to toast our shins by a campfire for a few minutes.” “No doubt someone from the village,” surmised Tom. “Let’s hurry on.” “Ugh!” warned Bright Star sharply. “Go slow. Maybe enemy.” “Good advice, Bright Star,” admitted the boy readily. “I keep forgetting I’m on this wild, western frontier.” Accordingly, they stole stealthily down the sandy path toward the mysterious light. They all kept their eyes fixed on the blaze, which burned steadily and grew larger as they advanced. “That’s the flame from a campfire. I’m fairly certain now,” stated Ben presently; and the others nodded assent. They paused for a moment and listened intently. Then they continued their advance. Soon they were near enough to know absolutely that it was the light from a campfire. It was obscured, at moments, by dark figures passing before it, and those figures must be men. “We could make a detour around it,” proposed Ben, as they again made pause. “Maybe enemy,” Bright Star warned anew. “Friend or enemy,” whispered Tom determinedly, “I’m going to find out. My bump of curiosity is itching something fierce.” So they set about stalking the campfire. The sand was so soft now that it gave back no sound at all, and there were bushes in plenty. Presently they were near enough to see that the campfire was large, surrounded by some eight or ten men. “Injuns!” whispered Ben, as they lay flat in the sand and drew their bodies yet closer. Lying there among the dark bushes, and with their eyes growing more accustomed to the fitful, flickering fire-light, they made out that the principal figure among the savages was a tall, rugged warrior, forbidding of visage and wild of hair; and with a soiled bandage on one shoulder. “Prairie Wolf!” muttered Bright Star tensely. “The Wolf!” echoed Ben and Tom, almost with one voice.