Slowly an hour slipped by. To Dave it seemed an age, and more than once he peered up and down the rough rocks to see if there was any sign of friends or enemies. From a distance had come two shots, but after that all was quiet as a tomb, save for the wind, which still swept through the forest, and the occasional patter of a few drops of rain.
“Don’t go too far, lad,” said Raymond, by way of caution, after Dave had climbed out on the rocks for the fourth time. “Those Injuns may be closer nor you think.”
“I must find out what has become of Henry,” was the half-desperate answer.
“Yes, yes, I know, but——”
“Do you think any of our party escaped to the boats?”
“It’s not likely they would expose themselves, lad. If they tried to row away some of the redskins would be sure to see ’em and send a shower of arrows after ’em.”
“But it is dreadful to think Henry may be killed, or a prisoner!”
“I know that too, lad. Didn’t I lose my brother Dan on the frontier only four years ago? I did my best to save him, too, but it was no use. I was taken prisoner, and they had just started to torture me when some of the Gordon Rangers came up and saved me. That was the fight in which they killed old Tom Granby and his son Jabez, and carried off Mrs. Williamson and little Ned Ford.”
“Did the prisoners ever escape?”
“All but little Ned. He was carried westward, and they have never heard of him since,” answered Raymond, with a sorry shake of his head.