“’Twon’t last much longer, boy,” he said. “Ef we don’t meet some o’ the reds soon, daylight ’ll be upon us afore long at best. For myself it’s no gr’et matter, ’cos, beyond the nat’rul desire to live, I’ve no gr’et object to live for, ’cept the good o’ you an’ my brave girl here.”
As he spoke, they noticed he had laid down his trusty rifle, retaining only his other weapons.
“An’ now,” he added, “I’m off toward the right, hyar. The minnit ye hear a shout an’ a rush, you two put nor’-west. Mind to bear a trifle toward the village at first, an’ then keep on to y’ur left, ’cordin’ as ye judge the way is clear. Ye may git off!”
He grasped a hand of each, and then attempted to turn, but they clung to his hard hands.
“No, Rhodan!” said Brom, hoarsely. “’Twon’t work. You’d go to sartin death, an’ ye know it. An’ to save us! No—stay; you kin help this girl out alone, better’n I could. She’s ’s dear ter me as life, an’ she shell be saved. I’ll go an’ bein’ younger—”
“No—me go too, den!” said Moorooine. “Hark! Warriors not far that way now. You shall no die for me. Do no good if did. We better die together. See—thar one come!”
Before another word could be passed, a figure loomed up beside them, and the voice of Mace whispered:
“Come out here, Scarred Eagle. Goodbrand has stole down toward the bank, where the lights last showed a canoe.”
“Ay, I know what the Miami wants to ondertake; but too many mustn’t try it, even ef thar’s an atom uv a chance. I don’t say thar ain’t. Go back with Mace then, you two,” he added, addressing Brom and the Indian maiden. “What I hev spoke of ’ll be of advantage to ye even in that case.”
“What, Rhodan?”