"Follow me, Dave, an' don't make no noise," went on the old frontiersman.
Without delay, they started to walk around the resting place of the red men. This took them to a spot where the rocks were exceedingly rough, and they had all they could do to make any progress at all.
"Drop!" yelled Dave, suddenly, and sank out of sight. Barringford lost no time in doing the same. On the instant several arrows whizzed over their heads.
"There are more Indians ahead of us," whispered the youth. "I am afraid we are caught, Sam!"
He had scarcely spoken when a wild war-whoop broke the stillness of the wilderness, and fully a dozen red men came scrambling over the rocks in the direction of the whites.
"Shall we fire on them?" asked Dave.
"Yes, and then run," was the quick answer. "It's our only hope, Dave."
The two rifles were raised and discharged almost as one. Down went the two leading red men, and the others lost no time in leaping out of sight. Then Dave and Barringford took to their heels, into the thickets to the westward. It was a rough journey, and their feet were cut on the rocks and their clothing torn by the bushes, but still they kept on until they came to a spot where further progress appeared impossible.
"Are they after us?" asked Dave, in a low voice.
"Can't say yet, lad. Load up," and they loaded with all possible speed.