“Merry, thank Heaven you’re here!” he exclaimed,
“Thank Heaven you’re still alive!” returned Frank. “I was afraid I might arrive too late. Tell me what has happened. How have you managed to stand those ruffians off?”
“They attacked the cabin twice,” said Hodge; “but we were ready for them both times.”
“We? But aren’t you alone?”
“I am now; but old Joe Crowfoot——”
“Crowfoot—what of him?”
“He was with me. I don’t know what has become of the old man now. He left to-night as soon as darkness fell, saying he was going to take a look at the ruffians down yonder. The old man is pretty well used up; he is nearly dead with rheumatism. He spent the greater part of the time after coming here in digging roots and making them into medicine by drying them at the fire, scraping them, then grinding them into powder between stones, finally preparing a decoction with water and the powder of the roots.”
Frank then told Bart what he had lately seen, and Hodge was greatly astonished.
“Old Joe down there with those men?” he muttered. “Why, I don’t see——”
“Ugh!” grunted a voice near at hand, and out of the shadows slipped another shadow that unhesitatingly approached. It was Crowfoot himself, as they immediately perceived.