In taking "the last squint" around, they saw pitch pine knot torches flashing on the plain.
"What did I say? The boys have found him, you be sure."
Retracing their steps to the pickets, they found the torches coming on as slowly as in a funeral procession.
"One can never tell," observed Joe; "maybe they've had a brush with the Injins."
"Not in the dark, lieutenant. Besides, those red devils must be still stiff with the freezing. It's those confounded bears, wild at having been robbed of me."
It was quite half an hour before the solemnly silent watch brought the torches near enough for their light, falling on the scouts, to reveal that they carried on a handbarrow of pine poles a figure vaguely resembling a man's.
"Have you found the Frenchman?"
"Yes, captain, but in damaged condition!"
"Do you mean to say he is hurt?"
"Have a little patience—or lend a hand, if you are in such a hurry!" cried the men.