“The last I saw of it it was headed almost due north.”
“Then the Frenchmen and the Indians were bound to Canada with their prisoners,” groaned Dave.
“It looks like it, Morris.”
A long spell of silence followed, Dave turning the situation over in his mind and Shamer dragging himself to the pool, to drink and to bathe his wounds.
It was some time after the noon hour when Raymond came back, skulking through the forest as silently as a shadow. On catching sight of Shamer he raised his musket, but just as quickly lowered the weapon.
“So you escaped, eh?” said he. “I am glad to hear it. I saw poor Gilfoy’s body, scalped, and I was afraid you and the others had shared the same fate.”
He sat down and had the German-American soldier tell his story, as it had already been told to Dave.
“It’s too bad,” he declared. “And the worst of it is, we are not yet out of this trap. The most of the redskins are gone, and I saw no Frenchmen, but at least four Injuns are still on guard—two at the lake front and two down on a trail leading to Fort Oswego.”
“That means that we are hemmed in,” said Dave, who was leaning down from the tree branch listening.
“Yes, lad. How is the knee?”