"Yes—but Tobe says he can find her. She is safe, I believe, but was brushed off the horse's back. He will find her never fear."
"Here ye be, folks," muttered the old hunter, as he returned. "Kin you walk a leetle, Mary?"
"Yes, I can; I think."
"Holp her, Ed, while I take the animiles. Foller me."
In a few moments the refuge was gained; a sort of natural bower, where, even by the light of day, a casual observer would scarcely have noticed their presence, and in the darkness, unless some noise should betray them, an entire tribe of red-skins might have passed within arm's-length of the covert, without suspecting their presence.
"You stay here an' keep still. Don't move or speak 'bove a cat's whisper, ontil I come back. I'll give the call o' the night-hawk twicet. You know it, Ed?"
"Yes, but be—"
Tobe did not wait to hear the conclusion of this sentence, but turned and glided away. His mind was far from being at ease, although he had endeavored to cheer up the fugitives with a confidence he was far from possessing, as he knew that it was no time for despondency.
He knew that Annie had most likely been knocked from the saddle by a limb, and that she might have received such injury as prevented her crying out. And then again she might have suddenly been pounced upon by the one who had fired the treacherous shot, and taken prisoner before she could give the alarm.
If hurt, the chances were against his finding her, in the darkness, and to await the light of day would be perilous in the extreme, now that the vicinity of deadly enemies was put beyond a doubt. Still he did not entirely despair; it was not his nature to do so, while breath remained.