Late had hardly more than understood that the newcomer was his friend, Ira Le Geyt, when the latter, holding aloft his iron cross, poured forth in the native tongue a torrent of words which held fixed the attention of the Indian band. When the speech was ended, each savage brandished his weapons, as he hurried across the river toward the camp with loud yells, leaving the two lads alone.
Drawing his knife, Ira cut the cords that bound the young scout to the tree, saying as he did so:
“I was just in time, Late.”
“That you were,” was the emphatic reply. “But how came you here?”
“It is too long a story to repeat now. I will tell you later, and you can explain how you happened to be in this fix. But now I must go to the British camp.”
“No, no,” his companion cried. “You mustn’t go there!”
“Why not?”
“Because Hiram Le Geyt and his father-in-law, David Daggett, are there.”
“Whew! I came pretty near getting into a bad scrape!” Ira exclaimed. “Well, suppose we go into the forest, where we shall be less likely to be disturbed.”
Soon they were sitting under the great pine, which Captain Swartwout had pointed out as a signal station, and Late told his story, concluding by saying: