“Look there!” exclaimed Ben Gordon, with a low cry, as the three came to the crown of a sloping ridge, giving them a view up an open glade that led off in a north-westerly direction. “Down!” called Bill Brown, as his keen eyes followed the boy’s pointing finger. “Down! this may mean danger!” Quickly throwing themselves prostrate behind some nearby rocks, the three whites looked up the narrow glade, directly upon an Indian camp of a half-dozen tepees. Well hidden behind the great, gray boulders, the trio occupied a splendid point of vantage, and, while secure from observation themselves, they could easily see all that went on in the savage encampment. The six Indian tepees had been pitched in a rough circle, and, in the open, level space within, ten dusky braves, naked to the waist, were doing a dance of singular violence. “Sacs!” declared Bill Brown, almost at once. “How do you know, Bill?” Ben queried. “’Cause they alus mark ’emselves with white clay, an’ ornament ’emselves with leaves, when they dance.” Sure enough! The boys now perceived that the glistening, naked bodies of the capering dancers displayed no paint except white, transverse streaks, with which they were covered. Also, around their heads, were green chaplets of leaves. And their legs, and even their guns--which all brandished before them--were wreathed in the same manner. “Is that their war-dance, Bill?” whispered Tom Gordon. “Yep, an’ it’d chill a man’s blood, wouldn’t it?” The three lay in tense silence for some moments, as they witnessed the ferocious posturings of the Sacs. “Ah!” said Ben Gordon presently. “See who comes!” The flap of one of the tepees was thrown back, and a tall, coppery figure emerged into the daylight. The hidden watchers recognized him immediately. It was the Prairie Wolf, the sinister young Sac chief. “Must be the Wolf’s camp,” muttered Bill Brown; and the two boys nodded agreement. The three watchers remained for a short time more, as the bronze-skinned, eagle-faced warriors continued their wild, barbaric dancing. “Nothin’ more to see,” averred Bill at length. “Tain’t wuthwhile to lay here any longer.” They slid away down the far side of the ridge, and continued their travel toward the camp of Shaubena. “What’s the meaning of that war-dance, Bill?” asked Ben, after an interval. “I’m a doin’ some heavy thinkin’.” “Could it be,” conjectured the boy thoughtfully, “that the Wolf and his Sacs have got word from Black Hawk that he has taken the war-trail?” “A smart guess, Ben,” declared Tom. “I’ll bet my hat that you’ve hit it. Else why should they daub themselves all over with that white clay and everything?” “Mebbe so, lads,” admitted Bill Brown. “I wouldn’t bet a plugged nickel that you ain’t right.”