"What's the matter now?" said Daddy John, alert for any outbreak of man
or beast.
But Courant made no answer, and moved away into the plain. It was some
time before he came back, emerging from the darkness as noiselessly as
he had gone. David had eaten his supper and was asleep, the girl
sitting beyond him withdrawn from the fire glow. Daddy John was
examining the sick horse, and Courant joined him, walking round the
beast and listening to the old man's opinions as to its condition.
They were not encouraging. It seemed likely that David's carelessness
would cost the train two valuable animals.
To the outward eye peace had again settled on the camp. The low
conferrings of the two men, the dying snaps of the charred twigs, were
the only sounds. The night brooded serene about the bivouac, the large
stars showing clear now that the central glare had sunk to a red heap
of ruin. Far away, on the hills, the sparks of Indian fires gleamed.
They had followed the train for days, watching it like the eyes of
hungry animals, too timid to come nearer. But there was no cause for
alarm, for the desert Indians were a feeble race, averse to bloodshed,
thieves at their worst, descending upon the deserted camping grounds to
carry away what the emigrants left.
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