"Not very," my uncle replied. "But in case of trouble, the top of it
isn't a bad place to shoot from."

"What if the other fellow gets there first?" Bill Banney inquired.

"We can run from here as easily as any other place," Jondo assured us.
"I haven't seen a sign of Indians yet. But we've got to be careful. This
point has a bad reputation, and I naturally begin to _feel_ Indians in
the air as soon as I come in sight of it. If we need the law of the
trail anywhere, we need it here," he admonished.

Beverly and I drew close together. We were in the land of _bad_ Indians,
but nothing had happened to us yet, and we could not believe that any
danger was near us now, although we were foolishly half hoping that
there might be, for the excitement of it.

"There's no place in a million miles for anybody to hide, Bill. Where
would Jondo's Indians be?" Beverly asked, as we were getting into camp
order for the night.

Beverly's disposition to demand proof was as strong here as it had been
in the matter of rivers turning their courses, and fishes playing
leap-frog.

"They might be behind that ridge out north, and have a scout lying flat
on the top of old Pawnee Rock, up there, lookin' benevolently down at us
over the rim of his spectacles right now," Bill replied, as he pulled
the corral ropes out of the wagon.