The first anxiety of the youths was to learn whether Motoza was one of them; but he was not.

All were strangers.
They were dressed much the same as the vagrant Sioux, and, like him, their faces were painted, and their coarse black hair dangled loosely about their shoulders.

They were armed with rifles; but two of the weapons seemed to be the long, old-fashioned muzzle-loaders, while the third carried a Winchester.

Although they emerged from the pines in Indian file, they spread apart and walked beside one another to the edge of the broad stream, where they stopped, as if that were the end of their journey.
Their gestures showed they were talking energetically, though of course not the slightest murmur reached the youths, who took care to screen themselves from view while cautiously peeping forth.

Even after the warning words of their guide they felt no special alarm, for they believed the red men were from the reservation near by, and would not harm any one.