For five long days we followed the road, without meeting with any incident worthy of note.  The settlements had all been passed, Fort Clark left far behind, and not an Indian been seen by any of our party.

On the evening of the eighth day, we encamped upon the banks of the Nucces.  It was a beautiful night.  The young moon was fast sinking behind the line of the distant mountains, leaving us to enjoy the light of our camp-fire, and admire its ruddy glow, reflected on the snow-white covers of our wagons.  These were parked in a semi-circle around us, and forcibly recalled to my mind the stories I had read in my boyhood, of gipsy encampments upon some grand old English barren.

“Now I call this comfort,” said Hal, as he lazily stretched himself upon a blanket before the fire.  “Eight days on the road, and we haven’t seen an Indian.  I don’t believe there are any.  Now what’s the use of standing guard and shivering round the camp half the night, watching for Indians that never come?”

“I come on first to-night, and shall stand my watch, at any rate,” said Ned.  “And before it gets any darker, we’d better drive the mules down to water.”

“Do you think,” asked Hal, appealing to me, “that there’s any need of standing guard to-night?”

“Certainly I do,” replied I.  “It’s always best to be on the safe side.  Why not exercise the same precaution to-night that we have since we left San Antonio?  It is impossible to tell how near Indians may be, or when they will attack us.  Travellers on the plains should be prepared for any emergency.”

“True as preachin’,” interrupted old Jerry.  “They ain’t so very fur off, either.  I’ve seen ’em signalin’ all the afternoon, and signalin’ allers means bizness with them red varmints.  If we don’t see ’em to-night, we shall afore a great while, and I think—­”

“Never mind what you think,” interrupted Hal, saucily.  “You are always imagining things that never come to pass.  I guess you’ve been pretty badly scared some time by Indians.”

“Wal, young man, when you’ve travelled over these plains as many years as I hev, maybe you’ll know more about Injuns than you do now, and maybe you won’t,” rejoined Jerry, in a tone of contempt, as he slowly moved away in the direction of the herd.

Asking Jerry to make sure that the animals were properly secured, I threw myself down on Hal’s blanket, and gazed into the fire.

Jerry and the boys soon returned, saying that the animals were perfectly safe; but somehow I found it impossible to rid myself of the impression made by Jerry’s casual remark.  Calling him to me, I asked him more particularly about the signals he had seen.  His answer did not relieve my uneasiness, for he said,—­

“Them varmints don’t make smoke for nothing; and, when you see ’em in so many directions, it’s a sure sign that they’re gatherin’ for mischief:  at least, that’s my ’sperience.”