"It hain't likely, onless ther cussed whisky should drive them so mad that ther elders can't control them. Then thar's no tellin' what mought happen."
"And no one will come to visit us?"
"I reckon not. But it won't matter. Thar never war wolves in a tighter trap."
"You are mistaken. See."
In a few minutes, by some juggling operation the scout had no idea of, the doctor had entirely freed himself, and also released his companion, and they could stretch their limbs at ease. Then they drew still nearer together and the conversation was continued.
"When the whisky has done its work, do you think we can get away?" asked the physician.
"That's mighty hard ter tell."
"And poor Olive, is there any hope for her?"
"I'm goin' ter see."
The scout laid his ear to the ground and remained silent for some time. Then he gently raised one side of the curtains of the wigwam and crept out into the darkness, and the doctor remained alone until the sun was well up.