Again there was no answer, but now he saw two forms moving silently from the bushes to a spot behind him.
Joe had seen to it that Teddy did not take his gun along, so the Irish lad was totally unarmed. He watched the figures in considerable alarm.
“Sure an’ they can’t be the boys,” he told himself. “Link! Harry!”
Slowly the figures drew closer and as they did so Teddy’s hair almost stood on end.
“Indians!” he cried. “Indians! Oh, I’m a dead b’y now!”
“Pa-wa! Pa-wa!” cried one of the advancing figures. “Bunk-a-bunk a busta-bust! Pa-wa!”
“Nunk-a-nuck!” came from the other. “White boy Injun prisoner!”
“Mercy on me!” shrieked poor Teddy. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, Mr. Indian!”
“White boy big chief’s prisoner,” came from the second figure. “Maybe scalp white boy!”
At this Teddy clasped his hands in terror.