“What is Tatanka afraid of?” asked Tim.
“He is afraid,” Barker explained, “that some Indians have seen us and are hiding in the house or behind it.”
Now Tatanka appeared in front of the shanty and motioned the others to come. In the house everything was confusion. The table was turned over and the broken dishes were scattered and tumbled about on the floor. Every pane in the one small window was smashed and in the hazel-brush just behind the little home, Jim Humphrey, the owner, lay dead, his hands still gripping the handle of an ax.
“The brutes have taken Jim’s wife and daughter with them,” murmured Barker. “Boys,” he continued, “you stand watch while Tatanka and I cover poor Humphrey’s body with green twigs and earth. We dare not wait to do more.”
What had thus far seemed like a horrible dream to the boys, had now become a ghastly reality. They were face to face with the horrors of savage warfare.
The next cabin, two miles northeast, was on fire and six men, three on horseback and three on a farm-wagon, were coming toward them. The four fugitives halted. “What are they!” Barker asked.
“They are Indians,” Tatanka decided at once. “We must make a run for the clump of poplars north of us.”
In the center of the round clump of poplars and thick brush, they tied their horses.
“They can’t see them here,” Tatanka stated. “Now, we must lie down near the edge of the brush, but so that they cannot see us, and don’t waste your powder. We may have to stay here for a long time.”
The Indians had all turned off the road and were approaching the thicket.