“Ain’t no uset to cry over spilt milk,” grumbled her husband.
“I think the Indians will come to-night and scalp all of us!”
“Oh, Mrs. Dobson, you don’t mean that!” gasped little Nell.
“Don’t scare the little girl, Mrs. Dobson,” put in Casbury, who chanced to be near. “It won’t help matters to git anybuddy worked up.”
At last the sun sank in the west and it began to grow dark at the mouth of the cave. Two men were stationed at the spot where the rear opening had been, and all the others gathered at the front. Then Sam Barringford called Rodney to him.
“I’m a-goin’ out on a scoutin’ tour,” said the old frontiersman. “I’m a-goin’ to leave you an’ Casbury in charge until I git back. Don’t shoot me, but don’t let none o’ them Injuns git near, nuther.”
“Don’t you want me to go with you, Sam?”
“No, it will be hard enough fer one to git around, let alone two. Ef ye ain’t sure it’s me comin’ back, hoot like an owl an’ I’ll answer like a catbird, understand?”
“Yes.”
Barringford gave the others a few directions and then, stepping quickly over the rocks, snaked his way along through the grass to a fringe of low bushes. From the bushes he made for the rough rocks, where he paused, to consider the situation in all of its details.