“Money doesn’t count here,” said Rodney, briefly. “We must use our wits, and if the worst comes to the worst, fight to the last,—for the sake of your wife and the children!”
CHAPTER XII
HOME ONCE MORE
The route to the river was a rough one, over jagged rocks and around stunted growths of evergreens and elderberry bushes, with here and there a bramble bush or a tangle of wild grapes. Often the men stumbled, and it was with difficulty that the horses got through without throwing their loads.
Not a word was spoken, Rodney cautioning all to silence. Every eye and ear was on the alert. Who knew but what they might be running into an ambush of the worst kind?
When the watercourse was gained,—a small stream flowing to the southeastward,—they came to a halt in a small grove of hemlocks and walnuts. Not another Indian had appeared, for which all were thankful.
The din to the northward was now growing less, and Rodney was certain that White Buffalo and his handfuls of braves were in retreat, not daring to meet the superior force under Moon Eye.
On gaining the vicinity his Indian friend had mentioned to him, Rodney lost no time in looking around for Sam Barringford.
“Sam!” he called, softly. “Sam, are you here?”
“Rodney!” came in a weak voice. “Here I be—an’ glad ye have come!”
The old frontiersman was up in a short, wide-spreading tree, where White Buffalo and another friendly red man had placed him. He was weak from his encounter with the enemy and glad to have the young soldier and the others come to his aid.