“That’s bad enough,” said Jack. “But,” and there was a grave note in his voice, “we stand a fair chance of losing our lives as well.”
There was silence for a moment or two; then Frank said, soberly:
“It’s a bad scrape. I wonder what sort of odds we have against us in the matter of escape.”
“Hush!” said Jack, in a low warning tone.
The three Creek warriors detailed as their guards were moving up and down, silently; they were armed with spears and hatchets and knives, and appeared to be a surly, suspicious trio indeed.
“Hello, I say, Red Stick,” said Jack to one of them. “I’d like a drink of water.”
The guard spoken to looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“Ugh!” spoke he, and went on in his slow pacing to and fro.
“All right,” said the young borderer, “you, then,” to a second, “could you get me some water?”
This savage shook his head and said something to the third guard in the Muscogee tongue. But that brave also seemed puzzled, and growled impatiently like a bear that had been disturbed. Two or three times more Jack tried them; then being satisfied by their manner he said, in a relieved way to Frank: