"Awaken! Arise! Quick! The Crees are bound hither to make you captives. Allons! Allons!"
A tall supple figure sprang from one of the tents. How readily she recognised his manly step, his proud head, his bright eye, his musical voice.
"Who are you? Why this attack?"
"I am you friend. Away, if you value your liberty, and mount your horse. I await to lead you from the danger." With motion quick and noiseless as the movements of night birds, the inmates of the tents armed themselves, strapped their knapsacks, and got into the saddle. No one questioned the graceful Indian boy further. There was something so appealing in his voice, so impatient in his gestures as he waited for their departure, that suspicion could not lurk in any mind.
"Hark!" cried the unknown. "They come. Hear you not the dull trample of their hoofs?"
"By the saints in heaven, yes, and I see them too," said one of the party, looking from his saddle through a night-glass.
"Away, away," cried the Indian boy. "Follow me;" and as the savages behind surrounded the empty tents with their hellish cries, he led the rescued ones at full speed down the valley, around the northern edge of Hickory Ridge, and out toward the Chequered Hills. After half an hour's ride, he drew bridle and the company gathered about him. Captain Stephens was the first to speak.
"Brave lad, we owe our liberty to you; yet wherefore, I am sure, I cannot tell."
But the boy only raised his hand, as if imposing silence upon that point.
"You are by no means safe from the Indians yet. They will scour the plains, and on this untrodden prairie you cannot conceal your trail. My advice is that you make no delay, but push on to Fort Pitt, which is only about twelve miles distant."