“Come with me to the river—we can take to the canoe,” whispered Dave into his cousin’s ear. He was fearful that one of the Indians might awaken at any moment and stop their flight.
“All right, Dave, but——” Henry hesitated, and tried to look through the darkness and the rain. “Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Neither am I—they took everything I had. We ought to try to get at least one rifle and a knife.”
“Yes, but the risk?”
“Is the canoe ready for use?”
“Yes,—all we have to do is to jump in and shove off.”
“Then keep still until I take a look around. At the first sign of an alarm make for the canoe as tight as you can.”
Henry’s wrenched ankle still pained him, but in the excitement of the occasion he paid no attention to the injury. With the wiliness of the red warriors he was trying to outwit, he crawled forward in the darkness until he was close to one of the wigwams. This he knew held several Indians and also his own weapons and those belonging to Dave.
With bated breath the young hunter raised the dirty flap to the wigwam and tried to pierce the darkness inside. He could see next to nothing. He crawled in a little further, and his hand came in contact with an Indian’s foot. He felt further, and touched the barrel of a gun. He raised the weapon and drew it towards him. One of the red men gave a deep sigh and a grunt, but did not awaken.