"And they are still two or three miles away," said Woodfall. The leader rode among his men and spoke with them. The train moved forward at the same speed, drawing itself like a great serpent over the plain, but there was a closing up of the ranks. The wagons moved more closely together, and every driver had a rifle under his feet. The horsemen rode toward the head of the train, held their rifles across the pommels of their saddles, and loosened the pistols in their holsters. Phil was conscious of a deep, suppressed excitement, an intensity of expectation, attached to the dark line of trees that now rose steadily higher and higher out of the plain. An old buffalo hunter in the train now recalled the river, also, and, after studying the lay of the land carefully, said that they would find a ford about two miles north of the point toward which the head of the train was directed. The course was changed at once, and they advanced toward the northwest. "Do you think anything is going to happen, Bill?" asked Phil, speaking for the first time. "Do you feel kind of tingly in your blood?" asked Breakstone, not replying directly. "I tingle all over," said Phil frankly. "I’m tingling a bit myself," said Breakstone, "and I’ve spent a good many years in the wilderness. Yes, Phil, I think something is going to happen, and I think you and me and the Cap and Arenberg ought to stick together." "That is well spoken," said Middleton. "We are chosen comrades, and we must stand by one another. See how the trees are drawing nearer." The black line now stood up level with the earth, and the trees became detached from one another. They could also see the thick undergrowth hiding the river, which seemed to flow in a deep gash across the plain. Middleton took from his saddlebags a pair of strong glasses, and, as they rode on, examined the double line of trees with the minutest scrutiny. Then he lowered the glasses, shaking his head. "I can’t make out anything," he said. "Nothing moves that I can see. There is no sign of human life." "The Comanche iss cunning," said Arenberg. "Harm iss done where harm iss meant, but I for one am willing to meet him." The mild German spoke in such a tone of passion that Phil was startled and looked at him. Arenberg’s blue eyes shone with a sort of blue fire, and he was unconsciously pressing his horse ahead of the others. It was evident, even to one as young as Phil, that he was stirred to his utmost depths. The boy leaned over and whispered to Breakstone: "He must have some special cause to hate the Comanches. You know he was in that massacre at New Braunfels." "That’s so," said Breakstone, "When you feel the savage knife, You remember it all your life."