Then, taking a bundle of thongs from a peg upon the wall, he proceeded to bind the prostrate man, hand and foot. When he had finished, he secured the other’s gun, ammunition, and knife, and calling to the dog left the hut, noiselessly closing the door behind him.
By this time it was quite dark. Along the creek bank, the camp-fires twinkled like watchful eyes. With long, sturdy strides, Douglas set off toward the ravine up the stream. The smell of the heavy fog was in his nostrils; the booming roar of the turbulent creek in his ears. He met or saw no one. He left the camp behind, and neared the spot where he expected to meet his friends.
Suddenly he stopped and whistled softly. No reply. He drew nearer to the ravine, and again he whistled. Still no reply. The bloodhound whined and impatiently scratched the soft, wet earth.
“Find them, Duke,” Ross commanded.
The dog ran forward and disappeared in the bushes.
Douglas awaited the outcome of his experiment. Presently he heard an eerie-like whisper:
“Come right straight ahead, Ross Douglas. Crawl into the bushes, an’ be mighty still while you’re doin’ it.”
It was Farley’s voice. Douglas obeyed the words. Dropping upon hands and knees, he wormed his way through the thick copse of wet bushes, for some yards. Suddenly a hand was clapped upon his shoulder, and these whispered words fell upon his ear:
“Drop down an’ keep still. The Injins is all ’round us. They’ve got onto our game, some way, an’ have been huntin’ fer our hidin’-place ever sence the middle o’ the afternoon. Me an’ Bright Wing’s laid here fer twelve mortal hours, without a bite to eat. How the redskins got onto our scheme is more’n I can tell; but they’ve done it. Have you got a gun with you, Ross?”