“Good Heaven! it is Alfred.”
“It’s certainly him,” returned Dave, in a collected manner; “an’ I afeard he’s got us all into a scrape this time. But we can’t help it now. Thar’s one advantage; it’ll show us what force the reds have got here, an’ we can calculate accordin’ly.”
“But may there not be danger for Alfred?” asked Charles. “I fear they may sacrifice him, at once, in their excitement and rage.”
“Not a bit o’ danger there,” responded David, with the utmost coolness. “Yer see, Bill has control of all that’s done in this village, and the red reptiles ’d no more dare take the life of a prisoner, than jest nothin’ at all. They’ll save him till their cruel leader gits home—then’ll be the danger.”
It was a hard task to witness the preparations for torturing the poor fellow, but it could not be helped, and they were forced to be spectators of what seemed, to Charles especially, so cruel.
“Good, good!” vociferated the scout, ardently, yet in a careful manner; “but Alf did that capitally. He went in like a regular Injin-fighter, born and bred to it.”
The scout chuckled as he witnessed the sight.
“I knew they didn’t catch the boy nappin’,” was the satisfied exclamation which followed. “Two o’ the scamps got fixed, an’ more of ’em got to follow. I’ve been in Wild Bill’s pen once; but he didn’t keep me, nor he can’t keep Alf.”
As nothing more could now be accomplished, the party drew cautiously away, to await the coming of night. David had counted sixteen warriors, and he judged, rightly enough, that there were others keeping a strict watch over the other prisoner—the fair Emily Hinton. In all, probably twenty warriors. It seemed a fearful odds—twenty against two; but the scout was not a man to hesitate. The thought of abandoning a friend or comrade never entered his noble heart.