“I don’t know,” said Dave, sadly, “Heaven alone knows. We’ll do the best we can; but, if the red-skins have discovered us, I’m afraid that nothing on earth can save us.”
The “Crow-Killer” had been listening anxiously at the door of the lodge. The war-whoops had ceased, and a dead silence reigned in the Indian camp.
“Well, Abe?” questioned Dave.
“I don’t hear any thing more,” said Abe. “After all, maybe it was only some of the Injuns in one of their drunken sprees; but what they were doing up hyar, beyond the lodge, puzzles me. At present they’re right between us an’ the wood; so we can’t stir without running into their clutches.”
Just then another chorus of yells rung out on the air; the Indians were apparently approaching the lodge, as the yells were getting nearer and nearer every moment.
“Dave!” cried the “Crow-Killer,” “I’m afeard we’re gone up; the Injuns are coming nearer every moment.”
“Can we not fight our way through them?” cried the young guide, in desperation.
“Nary chance for that,” and the “Crow-Killer” shook his head sagely. “If we are discovered, better not make any resistance; we shall only enrage ’em without doing us any good. If we fight ’em, we’re sure to be overpowered, ’cos they’re a hundred to one; they’ll only kill us outright; while, if we submit, they’ll shut us up as prisoners, till they get ready to torture us, and we then stand some chance of escaping. Just think, Dave, you an’ I dead, what will become of the little gal?”
Then came on the night-air the sound of hurried footsteps, approaching closer and closer.
“They’re coming!” cried the “Crow-Killer.” “I’m afeard, Dave, that it’s all up with us; the devils seem to be heading right for the lodge.”