But the savage did not wait. Urged by the impatient queries of those below, he at once stalked forward and glanced around. He must have seen that no lurkers were upon the floor, but a mere whim prompted him to advance toward the further side. A round, white object caught his eye, and as he bent toward it, something struck him in the forehead and face, causing him to start back with a howl of pain. He whirled rapidly, and grasping the beam, began to descend, pursued by dozens of yellow-jackets, which, not to be partial, pitched into his companions. In less than a minute, not only the loft, but the cabin was vacated, except by Scarred Eagle and the Indian girl. These two, lying quite still, cared little for the stings they themselves had received. Long after the Indians had left the spot, they remained in the same attitude, not only as a measure of safety, but to allow the disturbed hornets time to settle.
In an hour, Scarred Eagle cautiously rose, and Moorooine followed his example. They had not for a moment failed to hear sounds outside, coming from those who mourned their dead, or from those who kept coming in from a fruitless search.
“They no come here ag’in,” said the Indian girl, hopefully. “How do that?”
“We scouts l’arn to make use of sarcumstances that other ’uns wouldn’t notice,” replied Rhodan. “That nest was jest at my head, an’ ’twasn’t much work ter rile the little chaps. Ay; there comes more!”
The Indians began to come in fast, from the west and south. Three hours passed, and little took place in the village worthy of record. The concealed scout and his companion began to feel weak from their past terrible exertions. Hunger and thirst, too, tormented them. But there was nothing but to wait and watch in suspense. Scarred Eagle began to fear, and with reason, that those in the cave would be unable to assist them. Even if there were no new alarms, the camp would be too vigilant for them to escape that night. Meantime the warriors, whether successful or unsuccessful, would all be in, so that it would be madness for the rangers to attempt his liberation, even if they could know where he was.
They would probably suppose he had effected his escape, and search for him miles away. But he knew Brom would prosecute the search till death.
The sun was considerably past the meridian, when, from their look-out, they saw a number of Indians start up, and advance toward the forest on the south. A moment later, they heard sounds denoting an arrival.
“It’s plain all on ’em ain’t in yit,” whispered Scarred Eagle. “I don’t know what’s kep’ ’em so long, onless—ay, thar they come!”
A dozen or more came into view. They were greeted with yells of delight by those already in camp, who rushed forward to meet them. As they advanced into the center of the camp, Rhodan noticed they had a prisoner, and soon discovered it was Tim Devine. A pang of sorrow filled the breast of Scarred Eagle. He knew the faithful fellow had been taken, while endeavoring to draw the Indians off. His arms were closely pinioned behind, his hunting-frock was nearly torn off, and his face was covered with blood. What had become of his companion, Dan Hicks?
It was a silent query soon answered. The excited crowd thronged around, filling the air with gratified yells at the prospect of having one live victim for torture. As they swayed to and fro, jeering and buffeting the prisoner, one of them exhibited two bloody scalps of white men. One of these Rhodan recognized as that of poor Hicks; and the other—he feared, with a shudder, that it belonged to Ben Mace!