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‘It’s getting too dark to see much with this telescope,’ said Jack, ‘I wish we had a night-glass. The Indians ought to be here by this time–they said “sunset,” didn’t they? If I was a Red Indian I would be punctual! When do you suppose they’ll come, Clarence–soon?’

‘How on earth do I know?’ snapped the General from within the tent.

‘Well, you needn’t get in a bait over it. How did they come on the first time–did they crawl along like snakes till they were quite near, and then give a yell and rush at the stockade?’

‘I forget what they did–don’t bother me!’

‘I suppose they’ll all have tomahawks,’ said Guy. ‘Clarence, does scalping hurt?’

There was a slight convulsion inside the tent, but no answer.

‘I wonder if the Bogallala torture prisoners,’ Jack observed; ‘I don’t think I could stand that.’

The General came to the tent-door at this: ‘Can’t you fellows shut up?’ he said fiercely. ‘They’ll hear you!’

‘They’re not here yet–we shall know when they come, by the signalling–let’s all keep quite quiet for a minute or two.’

There was a breathless interval of silence. At last Jack said: ‘I hear something–a sort of low grunting noise, like pigs.’

‘Perhaps it is the pigs at the farm,’ suggested Guy.

‘Indians can imitate all kinds of birds, I know,’ reasoned Jack, not directly to the point, perhaps, but he was getting excited.

Tinling felt a dull rage against the other two. How dared they pretend not to be afraid? It was all swagger–he knew that very well. Various unpleasant recollections began to rise in his mind. He remembered how that Indian spy had stalked the settler’s cabin at Earl’s Court. He could see him now, stealing over the sand, then listening with his ear to the ground, and turning to beckon on the ambushed warriors. He even remembered the way the yellow and red striped blinds of the log hut flapped in the wind, and how the horse that was hobbled outside raised his head from his hay, and pricked his ears uneasily, as the foe came gliding nearer and nearer. Then their way of fighting–he had thought it rather comic then–they hopped and pranced about like so many lively frogs, but the butchery would not be rendered any more agreeable by being accompanied by laughable gestures! And there was an almost naked light-yellow savage, whom he recalled dancing the war dance–he tried not to think of all this, but it came vividly before him.

‘S-s-h–Cave!’ cried Guy, suddenly, as he looked through the loophole; ‘I can see just the top of one’s head and feathers among the currant bushes. I’ll touch him up in a second.’

He raised his tiny spring pistol, and was just aiming, when Tinling, almost beside himself, darted on him, and struck it out of his hand. ‘What are you doing now?’ he said, through his teeth. ‘What is the good of irritating them?’

‘Why, they are irritated,’ said Guy, ‘or they wouldn’t come.’

‘If they are,’ retorted Clarence, raising his voice, ‘whose doing was it? You can’t say I had anything to do with putting up those defiances! Haven’t I always said I respected Red men? They’ve got feelings like us. When you go and insult them, of course they get annoyed–who wouldn’t, I should like to know? I honour a chief like Yellow Vulture myself, and I don’t care if he hears me say so. I say I honour him!’

His voice rose almost to a scream as he concluded.

‘I say, Tinling, I do believe you’re in a funk!’ said Guy, after a moment of wondering silence.

‘If you are, say so, and we shall know what to do,’ added Jack, feeling in his pocket. ‘Are you?’

‘Feel his hands,’ suggested Guy.

‘Look here,’ said Clarence, dashing aside the obstacles before the door, ‘I’m not going to stay here to be treated in this way. If it hadn’t been for your foolery in sticking up the notices we should have been friends with the Indians now. I don’t want to quarrel with any Bogallala. And you have the cheek to ask me if I’m in a funk, and to want to feel my hands. Well, it just serves you right–I’m going.’