Those last words sent a chill through Cyril, who sprang forward again, and then nearly uttered a shout; for, about fifty yards in front, he caught sight of the colonel standing half hidden by the thick growth at the edge of a clearing, where some dozen or so of men were busy apparently cutting wood. Beyond them were two rough huts thatched with boughs, and piled up in little stacks were fagots of the wood which the men had cut down.
They were so busy over their task, that they had not noticed the presence of the colonel, neither did they hear the approaching footsteps as they worked on. But the colonel did, and turned and hurried back to meet the boys, holding up his hand to command silence. His eyes were flashing with satisfaction as they came up, and he had a branch of one of the trees about them in his hand.
“We thought we had lost you,” said Perry excitedly. “What’s that?”
“The magic tree I have come all these thousands of miles to seek, boy, and now—”
“Will you cast your eye this way, sir?” said John Manning, in a hoarse low voice of warning. “Indians all around. Do it mean mischief, or are they only friends?”
He gave his head a backward wag as he spoke, and as Cyril looked excitedly in the indicated direction, he saw that which made him thrust his hand into his pouch to count the cartridges; for if the coming Indians meant offence, they as travellers were in mortal peril of losing their lives.