“Ah, White Bird! Fall-leaf here! Fall-leaf save!”
“Is it indeed my friend Fall-leaf?” cried Miss Hayward, joyfully.
“Yes; Fall-leaf save you!”
“Where is William Nettleton?” asked Mamie.
“Gone—gone!”
“Ah! then I have only you to encounter,” yelled Walker, “and, if the Fates favor me, I shall triumph. I know the Indian has not thought to provide himself with provisions. I have enough to last us, with care, for two weeks, and by that time he will starve, for no Federal fool ever will find me here. He dare not leave in search of help, for I should then effect my escape. So we will play our hands, and see if I do not hold the trump card. Ha! ha! I can baffle any friend you have, Miss Hayward.”
“White Bird sing,” said the Indian.
“Yes, I will sing. And as we are now near the main road, some one will be sure to hear me.”
“Me watch—me wait!”
During the entire passage Miss Hayward had not failed to sing her echo-song every few miles, hoping to attract attention and gain assistance. Now that she was so near the public highway, she applied herself anew to the task. Walker made frequent attempts to silence her, but could not do it, as he feared, whenever he turned from his watch, that the Indian would dart in upon him.