A strong scout was sent out, boys placed back to back on stumps to watch while the rest were at work. Every nerve was strained to place their bread-corn out of the reach of the savages; for, this being accomplished, their anxieties in respect to food would cease.
The corn-crop and all their crops were late sown and planted, by reason of Indian alarms, and because in the spring they were occupied in building the mill.
The last basketful had been placed on the sled; and Honeywood took up his goad to start the oxen, when Mrs. Sumerford exclaimed, "Who's that? I saw a man, I know I did, come from behind the big rock, cross the ford and the little clear spot between there and the woods; and I think he had a rifle on his shoulder."
All now stood on their guard, rifle in hand.
"It ain't an Indian, that's sartain," said Holdness: "an Indian wouldn't be walking about in plain sight, with a rifle on his shoulder."
"Who else can it be? We haven't seen a white face for months. I think we'd better run for the garrison," said Mrs. Blanchard.
"I see him," said McClure. "It's a white man, but none of our folks: he's got a pack and a rifle. It's some ranger who has lost his way."
Every eye was now eagerly fastened on the stranger, who travelled slowly as though fatigued.
"It's Ned Rangely, Brad," shouted McClure, "as sure as the sun is in the heavens: it's Ned, who hunted and trapped with us so many winters at Red Stone, and has been in more Indian fights than any man on the frontier. Don't you see how he carries that left arm: that was broke by an Indian bullet?"