Perry looked sharply round in the direction pointed out by his companion, and then the pulses of both seemed to stand still, for they heard the approach of Indians from the direction of the clearing. Almost at the same moment, they could plainly see by the faint light of the fire, not the colonel and John Manning coming to fetch them at last, but the figures of the guides bending down, and then beginning to approach, in the soft furtive manner of a couple of wild beasts about to make their fatal spring.
Chapter Eighteen.
Adventures of a Night.
“He was right,” muttered Cyril, as the blood rushed to his head and made him feel giddy; “and now they mean to have us, but—”
He stopped short, and his teeth made a grating sound as he seized Perry by the shoulder. “Can you fight?” he whispered. “I—I don’t half know,” groaned Perry. “I’ll try.”
“That’s right. We must,” the boy continued. “They shall find we’re English after all.”
“What are you going to do?” said Perry, holding on by his companion’s arm.
“Get our guns. They’re close by the fire there. What are those two doing?”