The men nodded; the steady gripping of the rifle stocks alone told of their purpose; their thumbs were on the triggers; their eyes were upon the redskins. Then Kit’s soft, drawling voice said: “Now!” As he spoke his rifle came to a level, the muzzle within a few feet of the stalwart chief; the three trappers and the two boys followed his example; each of the grim black tubes stared a savage in the face. With dismay the Indians fell back into a huddled mass at one side; not for an instant did the long rifles waver; in the barrel of each was a messenger which meant death; they knew the deadly aim of the palefaces of the border and that they seldom missed their mark. The chief with the pitted face now found a fund of halting Spanish, and he addressed the trappers. “We come as friends! Are not the white men our brothers?” With his cheek against the stock of his rifle and his gray eye glancing down the barrel, Kit Carson replied: “Leave this camp! And leave it at once. Stay and you are all dead men.” There was an instant’s pause--an instant full of suspense; then the chief spoke to his braves. They made no answer, but gathered their gay colored robes about them and sullenly filed out of the little fort; and they never paused or looked behind until they were safely out of rifle shot. “There will be a grand pow-wow,” said Kit, as they watched the great band of savages join those just expelled from the fort. “And if the chief who spoke has the say, I wouldn’t wonder if we had a little fight on our hands before sunrise. He had fire in his eye as he left.” One by one a chief or head man harangued the redskins; suddenly there was a chorus of shrill yells and a scattering for their ponies; then, mounted, they formed a half circle, and with lances held high and bows ready for deadly work, they sat facing the camp of the whites like so many graven images. CHAPTER VI TWO NIGHTS OF DANGER At sight of the great array of armed and mounted savages facing the little fort, the two lads from the East felt that sinking sensation which usually comes to those not bred to physical danger. At the crisis within the camp neither had felt the slightest fear; the thing was so sudden and so desperate that they had no time to think of themselves. But this new situation was different; their minds had time to grasp the consequence of the attack and they felt uneasy. It is probable that Kit Carson understood something of what they were feeling; more than likely he had once gone through it himself; at any rate, he said: “This doesn’t mean much, lads; the reds are going to run rings around us, maybe, and do a little fancy shooting. But they’ll keep out of range of our guns, and so, of course, we’ll be out of reach of their bows. They are great fellows for that kind of exhibition.” But Kit was mistaken. Instead of making the attack expected, a man rode out the half circle of horsemen and approached the camp--one hand uplifted, the palm toward the whites.