"I should have taken it for a Comanche camp," said the half-blood. "I have seen just such lodges among the `Buffalo-eaters.'" "Not so, Anton," rejoined his master. "In the Comanche lodge the poles meet at the top, and are covered over with the skins, leaving no outlet for smoke. You observe it is not so with these. They are lodges of the Wacoes, who, it is true, are allies of the Comanches." Such was in reality the fact. The poles, though bent so as to approach each other at the top, did not quite meet, and an open hole remained for the passage of smoke. The lodge, therefore, was not a perfect cone, but the frustum of one; and in this it differed from the lodge of the Comanches. "The Wacoes are not hostile," remarked the cibolero. I think we have nothing to fear from them. No doubt they will trade with us. But where are they? This question was drawn forth by the cibolero observing that not a creature was to be seen about the lodges,--neither man, woman, child, nor animal! And yet it could not be a deserted camp. Indians would not abandon such lodges as these--at least they would not leave behind the fine robes that covered them! No, the owners must be near: no doubt, among the neighbouring hills, in pursuit of the buffalo. The cibolero guessed aright. As he and his companion stood looking down upon the encampment, a loud shouting reached their ears, and the next moment a body of several hundred horsemen was seen approaching over a swell of the prairie. They were riding slowly, but their panting foaming horses showed that they had just left off harder work. Presently another band, still more numerous, appeared in the rear. These were horses and mules laden with huge brown masses, the buffalo-meat packed up in the shaggy hides. This train was conducted by the women and boys, and followed by troops of dogs and screaming children. As they came toward the encampment from an opposite direction, Carlos and his companion were not for a while seen. The Indians, however, had not been long among the lodges before the quick eye of one caught sight of their two heads above the ridge. A warning cry was uttered, and in a moment every one of the dismounted hunters was back in his saddle and ready for action. One or two galloped off towards the meat-train, which had not yet come into camp, while others rode to and fro, exhibiting symptoms of alarm. No doubt they were under apprehensions that the Panes, their mortal foes, had stolen a march upon them.