Then he suddenly sprung erect. A significant sound met his ear. A rifle-shot—an Indian yell, at no very great distance.
It apparently proceeded from near the spot where he had left the Stevens family, and Fred feared they had been discovered by the Sioux. He could do no good by remaining here, as there were no traces of his family, and he resolved to return at once, though fearing it would be too late.
The young scout was not one to hesitate, when once his mind was made up, and securing the gory scalp to his waist, he entered the forest once more, gliding with speedy footsteps toward the point where he had left his friends in hiding. Still, despite his rapid progress, he was too late.
As he neared the covert, he uttered the signal agreed upon, but without an answer. Then he crept forward to the clump of bushes. He parted them and peered inside. They were untenanted by those whom he sought.
Fred stood in angry disappointment, not unmingled with apprehension. He did not know whether Stevens had disobeyed his strict injunctions, and ventured forth in an attempt to escape unaided, or whether he had been surprised and taken prisoner, and he dared not strike a light to discover, lest it should prove a beacon to guide a treacherous bullet or arrow to his life.
Then, as he stood there, another sound met his ear; one similar to that which had drawn him from the clearing, only louder and more protracted. Two single rifle-shots and then what seemed a united volley, accompanied by wild yells and whoops.
There could be no mistaking this. He knew that one party, at least, of his friends had been attacked by the Indians; most likely those whom he had taken under his own charge.
He did not hesitate, only long enough to determine the direction and probable distance of the strife from where he stood, and then pressed forward toward it, with as much speed as was consistent with safety. And now he displayed in an astonishing degree, the skill he had attained, thanks to the instructions of Tobe Castor.
He glided through the forest at a half-run, with apparently as much ease and celerity as though the intense gloom was replaced by broad daylight, seeming to avoid the tree-trunks and other obstacles by intuition. And his footfalls made scarcely more noise than those of the deer, traversing its course with unhasted steps.
Fred could still distinguish the faint sound of yells and cries, as though the strife still continued, though there were no more rifle-shots. This fact puzzled him not a little, though he did not slacken his pace.