Stabber was old, wily and wise. The new chief, whoever he might be,
seemed possessed of a mad lust for instant battle, coupled with a
possible fear that, unless the golden moment were seized, Ray might be
reinforced and could then defy them all. Indeed there were veteran
campaigners among the troopers who noted how often the tall red chief
pointed in sweeping gesture back to Moccasin Ridge--troopers who even at
the distance caught and interpreted a few of his words. "That's it,
sir," said Winsor, confidently to Ray. "He says 'more soldiers coming,'
and--I believe he knows."
At all events he had so convinced his fellows and, even before Stabber
reached the middle tooth--where sat a little knot of mounted Indians,
signalling apparently to others still some distance to the north,--with
a chorus of exultant yells, the long, gaudy, glittering line of braves
suddenly scattered and, lashing away to right and left, dozens of them
darted at top speed to join those already disposed about that big
circle, while others still, the main body, probably seventy strong,
after some barbaric show of circus evolutions about their leader, once
more reined up for some final injunctions from his lips.
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