His thoughts came to a sudden end, and for the instant he felt that he must be dreaming. His eyes had strayed to the bushes on the opposite bank of the stream. A white hand was raised warningly and the bushes parted slowly, showing the face of his old friend, Sam Barringford. Henry nodded, to show that he had seen the old frontiersman. Then the bushes closed again and Sam Barringford disappeared.
CHAPTER XI
SAM BARRINGFORD'S RUSE
The appearance of his old frontier friend gave Henry's hopes a bound upward. He felt that he could rely upon Sam Barringford to do his utmost for him in securing his release. He felt equally sure that Barringford had been following the band for some time, trying to gain a chance to rush in and cut his bonds.
It was true that Barringford numbered but one against nine, and would have stood small chance against them in an open fight, but Henry knew the old frontiersman too well to imagine that Barringford would thus expose himself to a stray shot that might kill him. His friend had learned the value of playing a "waiting game," and would do nothing rash unless the occasion actually demanded it.
The best part of half an hour went by, and still the Indians remained around the camp-fire, smoking and discussing the situation. Occasionally one would glance toward Henry and perhaps raise a tomahawk threateningly, meaning thereby that an attempt to escape would be punishable by death. To these movements Henry paid no attention.
The young hunter's ears were on the alert, for he half expected that Barringford might be coming up behind him to cut his bonds. At last he heard his name mentioned in a low, guarded tone:
"Henry!"
"Sam," he returned, without apparently moving his lips.