“Can we not cut a hole and escape through the back of the lodge?” said Dave, eagerly.
“That’s jist what I were a thinking ’bout; but the cussed red-skins seem to be all around us. I guess we mought as well keep quiet awhile, ’cos they may not be after us, arter all—thar’s no tellin’. Maybe it’s only some of the drunken Injuns.”
But, as if to give the lie to the hunter’s words, the Indian war-whoop rung around the lodge, showing it to be completely surrounded by the Crow warriors; then came the sound of many footsteps approaching the door of the wigwam. The “Crow-Killer” stepped back a few paces, folded his arms and waited for the entrance of the foe.
Dave was in despair; he had dared every thing to save the girl he loved, and now, at the very moment of success, after penetrating to the Indian village—after gaining access to the prison of the captive girl—to be baffled by the red-skins was terrible. Oh, how he wished for a giant’s strength to crush the yelling red demons that surrounded him! But, no avenue of escape was open; resistance was useless; fate was against and had crushed him.
A few minutes the scouts waited in breathless suspense; they could hear the footsteps of the Indians as they moved around the lodge, but as yet they had not attempted to enter.
“The red sarpints are mighty afeard, I should think, if they have discovered us, not to come an’ go for us,” said Abe, listening to the sounds without.
“Pray Heaven!” exclaimed Dave, “that they do not suspect that we are here.”
“Wal, if they don’t know that we are hyar, I would like to know what in thunder they’re cavorting round hyar for.”
Another torrent of yells broke forth upon the air.