"I think that's Jack. There isn't any need of his answering, but I suppose he wants to show how well he can do it."
You would think that Will was sure of the course of the faint hollow whistle that trembled among the trees, but he was not. It may have been that because he expected the reply from a certain point that it seemed to come thence, but all the same he was mistaken.
"I'll be the first to the ridge, and most likely will be the only one that has got any news. My gracious!"
This time the tremulous call was so close that he could not mistake its direction. It sounded in front, and not twenty rods distant. The affrighted Will halted, knowing that something was wrong.
"I don't believe that is either Jack or George," he said to himself. "They couldn't have got back there in time."
Whatever doubt might have lingered in the mind of Will was removed by the sight of the one who had just emitted the signal. The head of a Wyandot warrior was thrust so far from behind the trunk of a tree that his shoulders was seen through the black mass of coarse hair dangling about them.
The redskin was within easy gunshot, and he held his rifle pointed straight at the boy, but the latter, not knowing whether it was a summons to surrender, or whether the savage meant to fire, bounded behind the nearest tree.
"I've got a gun as well as you, and you don't catch me for the asking."
The same signal that had been heard several times once more fell upon the ear of Will. Like the last, it was so near that he could not mistake its direction--it was from the rear.
Turning his head, he saw a second Indian within fifty feet, with a bow and arrow. He did not try to screen his body, but his primitive weapon was held in such a position that he could launch the shaft before the boy could have used his weapon.