"That sound—what is it?" abruptly asked Edith, her voice sounding strained and unnatural.
"'Tis the varmints giving tongue—they've found the empty nest, but what they lotted most on gittin' has slipped 'em."
"Dey know trail, too, plenty well. Foller fast—Osage got long legs," muttered Lightfoot.
"Yes, we'll have to run for it now. They kin tell to a dot how long we've been gone, an' 'll be sure we've made tracks for Caughlands. They'll try to cut us off, an' 'f they do, our case 'll be desp'rit. Ed, help your wife—I'll look to the little 'un. Chief, lead on—quick time."
The alarm no longer came to the ears of the fugitives. All was still save for their own footsteps and the wailing of the storm-wind through the forest tree-tops.
The rage of the Osages had momentarily broken bonds, at the second disappointment of that night, but was quickly subdued. Their resolve deepened, their hatred and thirst for blood grew more intense. A few sharp, quick commands; then they marched in silence. They entered upon the trail that was to end only in death.
"See! the storm is breaking away," panted Mrs. Mordaunt, and the fugitives paused for a moment to regain breath. "The moon is—"
"'Tis a black moon for us!" groaned the settler, his teeth strongly gritting. "The devils have fired our cabin—now, indeed, we are homeless!"
"Easy, man—a log-cabin is easy raised where timber is so plenty as hereabouts. Thank the Lord that your heads have still got their nat'ral kivering," gravely added Boone.
Lightfoot now arose from his prostrate position upon the ground and muttered a few words in Boone's ear. The veteran seemed agitated, and well he might be.