“They are keeping their eyes on us,” said Jack, quietly.
“I see they are,” spoke Frank. “Do you suppose they suspect anything?”
“About our being loose? No. If they did, we’d hear from them without delay.”
Stillness hung heavily over the camp. Some distance away, the ring of braves about the town of Talladega occasionally gave evidences of being upon the alert; but the warriors here, perhaps worn out by a day of conflict, slept like tired animals.
“If we only had our rifles and our horses under us,” said Frank, longingly, “we could make a rush for it.”
“Quiet,” said Jack, for he feared their talking might be noticed by the guards. “I think I hear something.”
Jack faced the denser section of the wood in which the Creek camp was pitched. For some little time he had been watching the thin, trailing moonbeams as they filtered through the limbs and clambering vines. The pallid rays gave no light of any consequence; indeed, they only seemed to make the shadows deeper. The rustle of the small wild things of the wood occasionally came from the tangle, but as Jack had looked and watched, there had come a sound which was different, a regular purposeful sound which to his quick ears and attentive mind suggested the advance of some one or something who desired to remain unseen and unheard.
“What is it?” asked Frank, after a space. He had listened but had heard nothing.
“I get a sound now and then,” said Jack. “It comes from off here in the woods, and sounds like some one stealing up to have a look at us.”
“It’s probably one of the Creeks,” whispered Frank.