It's Tuesday.

While they were talking, they could hear drums beating in the Indian camps, and shouts. Laura sat still as a mouse on the doorstep and listened to the talk and to the Indians. The stars hung low and large and quivering over the burned prairie, and the wind blew gently in Laura's hair. Mr. Edwards said there were too many Indians in those camps; he didn't like it. Mr. Scott said he didn't know why so many of those savages were coming together, if they didn't mean devilment. Mr. Scott said that the only good Indian was a dead Indian. Pa said he didn't know about that. He figured that Indians would be as peaceable as anybody else if they were let alone. On the other hand, they had been moved west so many times that naturally they hated white folks. But an Indian ought to have sense enough to know when he was licked. With soldiers at Fort Gibson and Fort Dodge, Pa didn't believe these Indians would make any trouble. He told Mr. Scott that as to why they were congregating in these camps, he could tell him that they were getting ready for their big spring buffalo hunt. He said there were half a dozen tribes down in those camps. Usually the tribes were fighting  each other, but every spring they made peace and all came together for the big hunt. He said that they were sworn to peace among themselves, and they were thinking about hunting the buffalo, so it was not likely they would start on the war-path against them, and they would have their talks and their feasts, and then one day they would all hit the trail after the buffalo herds, and the buffalo would be working their way north pretty soon, following the green grass. He said by George, and he would like to go on a hunt like that himself and it must be a sight to see. Mr. Scott told Pa slowly that maybe he was right about it. Mr. Scott said that he would be glad to tell Mrs. Scott what he said because she couldn't get the Minnesota massacres out of her head.