"It's quite likely. Some of the bucks keep smart teams; they do a little rough farming on the reservation. It would look as if they were going for sloo hay, if anybody saw them."
George waited in silence, wishing he could hear the thud of hoofs again. It was slightly daunting to lie still and wonder where the men were. It is never very dark in summer on the western prairie, and George could see across the sloo, but there was no movement that the wind would not account for among the black trees that shut it in. Several minutes passed, and George looked around again with strained attention.
Suddenly a dim figure emerged from the gloom. Another followed it, but they made no sound that could be heard through the rustle of the leaves, and George felt his heart beat and his nerves tingle as he watched them flit, half seen, through the grass. Then one of the shadowy objects stooped, lifting something, and they went back as noiselessly as they had come. In a few more moments they had vanished, and the branches about them clashed in a rush of wind. It died away, and there was no sound or sign of human presence in all the silent wood. George, glad that the strain was over, was about to rise, but his companion laid a hand on his arm.
"Give 'em time to get clear. We don't want to come up until there's light enough to swear to them or they make the reservation."
They waited several minutes, and then, traversing the wood, found their horses and mounted. The grass stretched away, blurred and shadowy, and though they could see nothing that moved upon it, a beat of hoofs came softly back to them.
"Wind's bringing the sound," said the teamster. "Guess they won't hear us."
They rode out into the gray obscurity, losing the sound now and then. They had gone several leagues when they came to the edge of a dark bluff. Drawing bridle, they sat and listened, until the teamster broke the silence.
"There's a trail runs through; we'll try it."
The trail was difficult to find and bad to follow, for long grass and willow-scrub partly covered it, and in spite of their caution the men made a good deal of noise. That, however, seemed of less importance, for they could hear nothing ahead, and George looked about carefully as they crossed a more open space. The trees were getting blacker and more distinct; he could see their tops clearly against the sky, and guessed that dawn was near. How far it was to the reservation he did not know, but there would be light enough in another hour to see the men who had carried off the liquor. Then he began to wonder where the latter were, for there was now no sign of them.
Suddenly, when the wind dropped for a moment, a faint rattle of wheels reached them from the depths of the wood, and the teamster raised his hand.