Just as he stretched out his hand the sharp crack of a rifle rang out, and a bullet whistled close to his head. Then came a second report, and Joe, who appeared to be the target, dodged behind the huge oak.
His comrade joined him, and from behind this shelter they peered into the darkness mystified by the rapid firing. Then, from the rear could be heard a third report, and a ball buried itself in the tree-trunk.
“We are surrounded!” Late exclaimed in a low tone. “Quick! We must run before they have time to re-load. It’s our only hope of escape!”
Hatless, bootless, without breeches, coat or vest, the two scouts fled into the darkness, running as they never had before.
During a short time they heard the sound of footsteps, as of some one in pursuit, and then the noise grew fainter and fainter until it finally died away. The boys halted beneath a great pine, panting heavily.
“We are as safe here as anywhere,” young Wentworth declared, “and may as well stay where we are until mornin’.”
His comrade made no answer for a full minute, when he said:
“I don’t understand those three shots. Where could old Daggett have found any one to help him?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply, “but there must have been three in the party. No one had time to re-load.”
Slowly the moments passed, and then Joe spoke again: