"How awful still it is, and how fearful dark!" continued Bob. "I hope you won't get confused and miss your way."
"There is no danger of that," replied George confidently. "I can see the stars, and they are as good as a compass to me. I have often travelled by them, and they have never fooled me yet."
"Where are the wolves, I wonder?" said Bob, who was so impatient and so highly excited that he could not long hold his peace. "They keep up their unearthly howls every night when we wish them a thousand miles away, but now, when a yelp from one of them would be a relief, they don't put in an appearance."
"And I am glad of it," said George. "Don't you know that a pack of wolves are the best sentries a camping-party can have?"
Yes, Bob said he was aware of that fact.
"Well," continued George, "don't you see that the little breeze there is stirring is blowing from us toward the camp? If there were any wolves around, they would probably be on the other side of the gully, for it would be a waste of time for them to prowl around here among these sandhills, where they couldn't find even a rabbit to eat. The moment they caught our wind they would scamper off, and then 'Good-bye, prisoners.' I wish I knew where those Indians have staked out their ponies, for I stand more in fear of them than I do of that sentry. If we should get to windward of them, they would kick up a rumpus directly."
The longer Bob talked with George the more clearly the difficulties attending his undertaking seemed to stand but before him, and the greater grew his anxiety and impatience. If his attempt to surprise the Indian camp failed, there was no telling when Mr. Wentworth's boys would be heard of again. If it suited their captors to spare their lives, they would doubtless be sold to some band who lived at a great distance from the agency, and who would take the greatest pains to keep their existence a profound secret. If they were ever given up at all, it would only be after that particular band had been soundly thrashed for some outrage, and then they would be brought forward as an element in the "peace negotiations," their captors demanding a heavy ransom and taking great credit to themselves for surrendering them. But this might not happen for years, and during that time a great many things might happen to the boys. They might become so completely broken down by cruel treatment that their death would be a blessing, or else so thoroughly infatuated with the Indian mode of life that, if left to themselves, they would choose to go back to the wigwams of their savage masters rather than return to the home of their father.
"It's now or never," said Bob to himself after he had thought the matter over. "I don't wonder that Mr. Wentworth feels so spiteful, for if these Indians are not killed during this scout, they will never be punished for what they have done to him. The government is too tender-hearted to touch them, and if Mr. Wentworth takes the law into his own hands, he will be sure to suffer for it. They will go back to their agency to grow fat on government grub and be kept warm in winter by government blankets; and their agent, in order to prevent an investigation that might take a few dollars out of his pocket, will be ready to swear that they have never been off their reservation. I wonder how he would feel if he saw his own children carried into captivity?"
For two long hours the weary troopers continued the march, stopping for rest only when Bob and George climbed some sandhill to reconnoitre the ground before them. The deep silence that brooded over the Staked Plains was almost oppressive. The bare feet of the troopers gave out no sound as they sank into the yielding sand, and all that could be heard was their labored breathing as they walked behind their leader, trusting implicitly to his guidance. They never uttered a word, but Bob's impatience and nervousness would have kept his tongue in constant motion had it not been for George, who gave him an energetic prod in the ribs whenever he showed a disposition to become colloquial. He felt that he must do something pretty soon or sink under his burden of responsibility, which seemed to grow heavier the longer he walked; consequently, when George stopped all of a sudden and silently pointed his finger at a dense wall of trees that ran across their path, his delight knew no bounds. The ravine in which the Indians were encamped was close in front of them. The murmuring of the waterfall which came up from its wooded depths was a pleasant sound to his ears, but he and his troopers had much to do before they could quench their thirst at that rippling stream.