There could be no disputing this fact, and Colonel Preston peeped through the loopholes, first on one side of the block-house and then on the other, until he had looked toward each point of the compass.
It may be said that nothing but blank darkness met his eye. He could hear the sound of the flowing river, the solemn sighing of the night-wind among the trees, but nowhere could he catch the glimmer of the Indian camp-fire, nor hear the red man's war-whoop which had fallen on his ear more than once since he made his home on the Dark and Bloody Ground.
This impressive stillness told as eloquently of the presence of the red man as the sounds of conflict could have done.
"There is no need of waiting longer," remarked the Colonel.
As he spoke, he began descending the ladder, which answered for the stairs, Stinger following him. On the lower floor there was not the slightest ray of light, but both were so familiar with the room that they needed no lamp.
Reaching the door, Colonel Preston placed his hand on the heavy bars which held it in place, and the two listened for several minutes. Nothing was heard, and the fastenings were drawn with much care and in almost complete silence.
"If you have to come back," whispered the commandant, "give the signal and I will let you in."
"I'll do so;—good bye," and, without any more words, the scout vanished in the gloom.
To the consternation of Colonel Preston, he heard the familiar whistle of Stinger a couple of hours later, at which time he hoped he was well on his way to Wild Oaks.
The messenger was safely admitted within the block-house shortly after, and his first words were—