“She was carried off by two of the Indians—Mrs. Parsons saw it done.”
“It’s queer the redskins separated.”
“The attack was made by two tribes, one under Long Knife, and the other under an Indian called Red Feather, a horrible-looking savage with a broken nose.”
“I haven’t seen anything of that savage. But now we had best keep quiet, Harmony, for we are getting close to the Indian camp again.”
Joe was right. Caught by the current of the river the two canoes were drifting down the stream rapidly. The rain still descended steadily although not as heavily as before.
So far no sound had reached them from the vicinity of the camp where Mrs. Parsons was still held a captive, but now a distant shout could be heard, followed by a war-whoop, and then two gun shots.
“Some sort of an attack is on!” cried the boy. “I trust our side wins out.”
“Oh, so do I, Joe. Did you say father and Mr. Frost had guns?”
“Yes, and they most likely fired those two shots. Hark to the war-whoops! The redskins are making it lively. I’d like to know if Harry is in that mix-up.”
Joe turned the canoes toward the river bank, and after a careful survey of the locality discovered the spot where he had left his chum.