“Now, old fellow,” spoke the boy as he finished with the saddle and stood patting Hawk’s neck. “This is going to be a very lively night for both of us. So do your best for me; more depends on your heels to-night than ever before in your life.”
Sharply Eph Taylor scoured the clearing before the cabin; other eyes, equally eager and intent, did the like for the sides and the rear. But keen as was their vision they could penetrate but a short distance into the blackness. What was beyond the range of their sight they could only imagine.
“As far as I can see,” said Eph, “there’s no one to stop you. But,” and he stroked his long chin, “that’s not very far.”
“When I give the word, open the door very softly,” said Oliver. He then shook hands with those who pressed about him, wishing him a safe journey through the night; then he spoke quietly to Eph and Sandy. A moment later the door had opened and closed behind him.
Cautiously he turned his head from side to side, listening; Hawk stood as still as a beast of bronze, seeming to understand something of the danger of which he was a partaker. No sound reached the lad; from off among the trees he saw the flitting forms of the Indians about the camp-fires; but none of them seemed nearer. During the time spent at the port-holes of the Curley cabin, young Barclay had observed the lie of the land, thinking there might come a time when a dash for liberty would be their only chance. This served him well now in the darkness; mounting, he turned his horse’s head in the direction furthest removed from the Indian camp-fires, and so began his journey.
There was, as he had observed, an opening in the forest growth in this direction, and he trusted to the “night sight” and instinct of Hawk to find it.
In this his confidence was in every way warranted; in a direct line, apparently, the good horse made for the opening. But scarcely had he gained the blacker shadows cast by the trees on either side, than the horse stopped with a snort. At the same instant a number of forms leaped from the sides of the path, and Oliver was dragged to the ground.
CHAPTER XI
THE BATTLE OF POINT PLEASANT
Whether he had received a blow upon the head, or had been stunned by the force of the fall from his horse, Oliver Barclay did not know. But, in any event, when he recovered consciousness, he found himself bound hand and foot and securely fastened to a tree in the heart of the Shawnee camp.
Near him sat a young savage whose left hand was swathed in bandages; and in the flickering firelight which fell upon this brave’s face, Oliver recognized Long Panther.