"Tom don't like this," said one of the twins. "Tom wants to go home."
"Perhaps we'll get home some day, if you'll keep quiet and be a good boy," answered Dave.
"Artie wants some syrup bread," said the other twin. "Bad Indians wouldn't give Artie no sugar bread 'tall!"
"You mustn't talk," whispered Nell. "The bad Indians might come after us," and then the twins relapsed into silence once more.
Never had Dave worked at a paddle with greater vigor than now, and on went the canoe at a good rate of speed. It was too dark to see much, but the youth watched for the flashes of lightning and guided his course by them. Once the craft struck a floating log and came near going over. At this Nell and the twins uttered a slight scream.
"Don't worry, we're safe," called out Dave, and the log slid past the canoe.
Five minutes had passed and still no alarm came from the Indian village. Dave was making for the opposite shore of the lake, and now, during a lull in the wind, he uttered a short and loud whistle.
"Why did you do that, Dave?" questioned his cousin.
"It's a signal, Nell. Wait, I don't think I'll tell you any more just yet," he added, as he did not wish to disappoint her, should White Buffalo fail to appear.
No answer came to his whistle, and for a brief instant his heart sank within him. Then he whistled louder than before, and repeated the call several times. At last came back a note that he knew well. It told him that his faithful Indian friend was on the watch for him.