Dusky Dick was evidently up to mischief, and as he was not with Sloan Young, what more likely than that he would pay a visit to the Wilson cabin? Should he do so, and find the inmates unsuspicious of their danger, an easy victory would be his. No wonder the young settler felt worried.
And then he abruptly paused, with a slight exclamation of dismay. Before him he could distinguish the fast widening trace of a conflagration; the sky was rapidly reddening with what he knew must be the glare of a burning cabin—and that cabin none other than his own!
"See! the devils are at work!" he hissed, in a strained and unnatural voice, as his companions drew nearer. "It is our cabin on fire!"
The little party stood in mute anxiety. Their eyes roved from one face to another. A terrible fear was upon them.
They could just distinguish the sound of shrill yells, as of Indians, borne to their ears by the favoring breeze. It sounded like the death-knell to all their hopes.
"What will you do now, Fred?" asked Stevens, breaking the painful silence.
"I must go ahead and see what that means. If John has been delayed by any thing, I fear the worst—all is lost. And it looks that way, for I hear no shooting."
"Will it be safe?"
"Not for the rest of you. You must stay here until I can find out how the ground lies. It would be worse than folly to go forward now, not knowing who we may meet. Come out here—it will be safer. So if any red-skins chance along the Trace, they will not discover you, if you are anyways careful."
Fred did not pause for a reply, but led the way out a few yards from the trail. Then he bade the fugitives crouch down amid the underbrush and await his return, which would be as speedy as possible.