The noise was repeated, and then followed by a hissing sound, which he knew to be the burning of a powder on a piece of dry wood, after which rays of light filtered through cracks of the unstable floor of the loft.
The man placed his eye to one of these crevices, and counted eleven Indians, all young braves, with the exception of the chief.

The Indians had been hunting; they had haunches of deer and buffalo tongues, together with several packs of hides.

Some of them busied themselves drying their weapons; others sat down listlessly, plainly showing their weariness, and two worked over the smouldering fire.
The damp leaves and twigs burned faintly, yet there was enough to cause the hunter fear that he might be discovered.

He believed he had not much to worry about from the young braves, but the hawk-eyed chief was dangerous.
And he was right.

Presently the stalwart chief heard, or saw, a drop of water fall from the loft.