Norman came out with Tim, each a gun in hand, to ask the same question, and look wonderingly at the captain when his reply was abrupt and stern.
The sun sank; evening was coming on, with its dark shadows, and those which were human of a far darker dye; and after a final look round at the shutters, indented and pitted with spear holes, the captain said sternly, “In every one: it is time this door was closed.”
“But Shanter, father; he is not here,” cried Rifle, while his brother and cousin looked at the captain excitedly.
“And will not be,” said the latter, in a deep stern voice. “Now, German, ready with the bars? It’s getting dark enough for them to make a rush.”
“Father, you don’t think he is killed?” whispered Norman, in an awe-stricken voice.
“No; but I am sure that he has forsaken us.”
“What?” cried Rifle. “Oh no!”
“Yes, boy; his manner the last two days had taught me what to expect. He has done wonders, but the apparent hopelessness of the struggle was too much for a savage, and he has gone.”
“Not to the enemy, father, I’m sure,” cried Norman.
“Well then, to provide for his own safety.”