"Hark! let us listen."
All stood motionless, and scarcely breathing. But nothing resembling the sounds described by their guide was noticed.
"It does look as if I was mistaken," said Worrell, brightening up. "I hope I was."
"It could be very well the other way," said Ned Clinton. "The Indians may have made a dozen calls to each other, but they were not likely to keep it up very long. A few signals would accomplish all they want."
Nothing was to be gained by argument over the question, in which all was conjecture, and they moved on once more. It was not five minutes before their guide paused again, but it was only for a moment, and he said nothing. He acted as if he fancied he caught something suspicious, but seeing the whites with the appearance of attention, concluded he was mistaken, so long as nothing of the kind fell upon their ears. By that time the afternoon was well advanced, and the day was somewhat warmer than before.
None of the fugitives had gained a moment's sleep during the preceding night, while the exhaustion and privation of the past few days were so severe that they experienced the need of rest and food. Ned and Jo felt that the man could not do them a greater favor and kindness than to lead them into some retreat where they could recuperate in this respect,—sleep being needed more than anything else. Jo turned about while they were walking cautiously forward, and whispered to Ned immediately behind:
"Watch the route we take."
Ned nodded his head to signify he understood him. At intervals they reached and crossed small spaces of natural clearings, where Rosa and the youths scanned all the country that could be brought under their field of vision. In no instance were these very extensive, and the view resulted in nothing tangible as regarded the movements of their enemies. Much of the ground which was passed was rough and covered with stones. Upon these they stepped so carefully that they left a trail which it would require the keenest eye of the Indian warrior to detect and follow.