Dick made a bound, catching the limb fairly. Three or four times he swung himself back and forth, until he had gained enough momentum. Then he let go, on the last swing, landing on his feet well behind the bushes. Dave came next, Tom following. Now the three Indians hurried on again, Big Injun Dick in the lead as before.
"If we do throw them off, Greg's fighting men will have a hard job hitting the trail again," chuckled Tom.
"If they don't find our trail, Dick, where are you headed for?" whispered Dave.
"For the road and home," laughed Dick. "Then, while they're trying to figure out where we've gone, we fellows will be washing up for supper."
"I'd like to hear Old Greg grumbling if the 'double' does throw 'em off the trail altogether," grinned Darrin. "Dick, I think we've more than half a chance to get away."
"We have about four chances out of five of slipping away from
Greg's soldiers," predicted Prescott.
For ten minutes Dick and his two braves plodded on. There were, as yet, no audible sounds of pursuit.
"We caught 'em, surely enough, that time," chuckled Tom. "Going to hit for the road now, Dick?"
"We can't reach the road until our hour is up; we're bound to keep to the woods," Prescott replied. "However, you'll note that I am taking a course that will gradually lead us to the road."
"Right-o," nodded Reade, after taking a look at their surroundings. All the members of Dick & Co. had spent so much of their time in the woods that they knew every foot of the way.