"To attack would be foolhardy, even if we hid ourselves among the trees," said Sanderson. "They'd drive us from cover sooner or later, and kill us."
"One of us might go back for help," suggested the young pioneer.
"I was thinking of that. But that would take time, and your father couldn't spare enough men to make it worth while. As near as I can make out there are six Frenchmen in the camp and nineteen red men, or twenty-five fighters in all. The most we could muster up would be ten or a dozen. That would be two to one."
"If they have any captives, and especially Sam Barringford, I wish we could release them."
"Let us wait until nightfall," suggested Ira Sanderson. "Something may turn up."
Not far away was a slight rise of ground, and behind some bushes on this they hid themselves. From this quarter they could get a fair view of the village and note much of what was going on.
They had scarcely settled themselves when they heard a shout, and an Indian who had been on guard came in with another Indian, who had just arrived on foot from a distance.
"It is an Ottawa!" murmured Jadwin. "One of the braves of Pontiac's tribe."
"He evidently has news," said Dave. "I wish we knew what it was."
Jadwin decided to crawl to another spot and learn if he could overhear what was being said.