“Now’s our time—come!” he added, turning to the Indian girl.
She had started to her feet, filled with a new strength at the thought that Brom was saved and her own escape probable. But as Rhodan was about to glide out he caught a glimpse of a figure moving up from the left of the entrance. There was no time to ensconce himself under the pile of skins. Instead, he crouched close to the side of the lodge, and Moorooine sunk back to her former attitude.
They had barely time to do this when a savage entered hastily and stood beside the girl.
“Sporting Fawn too young to die,” he said. “If come to my lodge an’ be my squaw, take ’er dar now in canoe. Mus’ come quick!”
As he spoke he drew his knife, and bent low to cut her bonds. The sudden discovery that these were no longer upon her caused the fellow to straighten up in astonishment. He had no time to question her or even to glance around. A quick, powerful blow from behind laid him senseless. Moorooine again sprung to her feet, and the next moment was gliding across to the opposite row of huts after Scarred Eagle. The moment they were behind these they turned toward the north. But they had not gone more than twenty yards when, amid the general noise of alarm, they heard the ringing cry of the warrior whom they had just evaded.
It was lucky for them the fellow raised the cry, for it was answered by others whom in a moment more the fugitives would have met.
At the moment they were near a large square hut, and having no time to do better, crouched close beside it.
The Indians rushed past them, and were for a moment hid from view by an intervening lodge. The cry had recalled others from the vicinity of the subterranean passage, and these were heard rushing up.
“Must git in here if can—quick!” whispered the girl.
It was a desperate attempt; but more dangerous to remain still or attempt to run further. They crept rapidly forward, and at a moment when the backs of the startled Indians were toward them, darted inside.