"It is growing late and our weapons are hungry for white blood. Let us break open the lodge. They can do nothing," muttered the Indian who had spoken before, who was evidently of higher rank than the others who stood silently behind him.
"We can do it. One rush will overpower them. But remember—the young squaw must not be harmed. She is mine—for my squaw," earnestly added Young.
"It is well. One Eye shall have her," and then the chief spoke a few words to his followers, who drew together and made a heavy rush against the door.
It flew open so suddenly that one-half their number fell in a sprawling heap upon the floor, half-way across the room. Then with wild yells and cries Young and the chief sprung over their forms, and glared around for their anticipated victims.
But where were they? Why did not their cries of wild alarm and terror break forth upon the air? Surely there had been noise enough made to awaken them from the soundest slumber!
Raging furiously, Young rushed into the second room, but silence met him there, as well. He could no longer doubt the truth.
"A light—quick!" he snarled fiercely, in his rage speaking in English. "They cain't all hev gone. Cusses on that drunken fool!"
A light was speedily struck, and applied to a heap of clothing that lay upon the floor. As the blaze shot up, the interior of the cabin was rendered visible. Here, as at Wilson's, the disordered furniture and various articles strewn about the floor, told of a hasty and recent flight.
The half-breed quickly ran through the rooms, and found nothing there to wreak his fury upon. The loft, likewise, was empty. His anger and disappointment was fearful.
Led by him the Indians procured lights and ran outside to find, if possible, some trace of the fugitives. While some searched for a trail, others sought among the brush and hollows along the hillside, in the faint hope that the fugitives had sought shelter there.