“No; yes,” I said, as I gazed wildly at the group about the fire, and felt that our movements must be seen. But the Indians made no sign, and Pomp went on—
“Injum ebberywhere now. Can’t run away.”
“But we must,” I whispered.
“Catchum gain, dreckerly. Dis here tree. Mass’ George go up fuss.”
“Up the tree!” I faltered.
Then grasping the cleverness of the boy’s idea, I stretched out my arms, seized a branch overhead, and in spite of my numbness, swung myself up and stood on it, holding by the branch of the great pine close behind the two small trees to which we had been bound.
Pomp was beside me directly. “Up!” he whispered; and as silently as I could, I crept on toward the dense crown, the many horizontal branches giving good foot-hold, and the fire gleaming among the needle-like foliage as I went higher, with Pomp always ready to touch me and try to guide.
It was a huge tree, quite a cone of dense foliage, after we were some distance up, and we had just reached the part where great, flat, heavily-laden boughs spread between us and the ground, when Pomp drew himself quickly to my side, and laid his hand on my mouth.
It was not necessary, for at the same moment as he I had noted the danger, just catching sight of two black shadows on the ground, which I knew were those of a couple of the Indians approaching our trees from the fire.
Then we could see no more, but remained there clinging to the boughs as if part of the tree itself, wondering what was to come.