Left to themselves, the others decided to float the canoe and hold it in readiness for use. This was an easy matter, and Joe remained in the craft, paddle in hand, while Harry and Mr. Winship stood on the river bank on guard.
Thus nearly half an hour went by. The rain came down as steadily as ever, and the sky was now inky black.
“It’s time Pep Frost was back,” said Ezra Winship at last. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”
A few minutes later they heard a murmur of voices in the Indian camp, and then a scream which, however, was quickly suppressed.
“I cannot stand the suspense,” declared Mr. Winship. “Boys, watch out until I get back,” and without further words he followed in the trail Pep Frost had taken.
The scream had excited Joe as well as his father, for he felt that it was his sister Harmony who had uttered the cry.
“I’m going to push the canoe out to the edge of the brushwood,” he whispered to Harry. “I think I can see the Indian camp from that point, if they have any torches lit.”
Noiselessly he shoved the light craft forward until the edge of the bushes was reached. He peered forward cautiously, and then went out a little further. Only the fierce rain greeted him, and the silent river seemed deserted.
At last he caught sight of the flare of a torch, spluttering fitfully in the rain and the wind. It was a good hundred yards away, and he made out the forms of several Indians with difficulty. Then he discovered another torch on the river and saw that it was fastened at the bow of a canoe which had just been set in motion.
“Save me!” came suddenly to his ears. “Oh, save me, Mrs. Parsons. Do not let this horrid Indian carry me away from you!”