oon returned, however,
not being shy birds, but the contrary.

There was nothing in all this to create surprise, except, perhaps, the
dead deer. What had been killing these animals? Not a beast of prey, for
that would have devoured them, unless, indeed, it might be the puma,
that often kills more than he can eat.

The thought had occurred to Don Pablo that they might have died from the
poisoned arrows of an Indian. This thought somewhat disquieted him, for
he knew not what kind of Indians they might be,--they might be friendly
or hostile;--if the latter, not only would all his plans be frustrated,
but the lives of himself and party would be in danger. Guapo could not
assure him on this head; he had been so long absent from the Great
Montana that he was ignorant of the places where the tribes of these
parts might now be located. These tribes often change their homes.

He knew that the Chunchos sometimes roamed so far up, and they were the
most dangerous of all the Indians of the Montana,--haters of the whites,
fierce and revengeful. It was they who several times destroyed the
settlements and mission stations. If Chunchos were in the woods they
might look out for trouble. Guapo did not think there were any Indians
near. He would have seen some traces of them before now, and he had
observed none since their arrival. This assurance of the knowing Indian
quite restored Don Pablo's confidence, and they talked no longer on the
subject. After a while, their attention was again called to the
vultures. These filthy creatures had returned to the deer, and were
busily gorging themselves, when, all at once, they were seen to rise up
as if affrighted. They did not fly far,--only a few feet,--and stood
with outstretched necks looking towards the carrion, as if whatever had
frightened them was there.

The bark-hunters could perceive nothing. It was the body of a small
deer, already half eaten, and no object bigger than a man's hand could
have been concealed behind it. The zamuros, however, _had_ seen
something strange--else they would hardly have acted as they did--and,
with this conviction, the bark-hunters stopped their work to observe
them.

After a while the birds seemed to take fresh courage, hopped back to the
carrion, and recommenced tearing at it. In another moment they again
started and flew back, but, this time, not so far as before, and then
they all returned again, and, after feeding another short while, started
back