"Braxton!" he exclaimed. "Have they got you, too?"
Wyatt rose up, came to Paul, and took his hand in the friendliest manner.
"Yes, Paul," he said. "I was out hunting, thinking that there were no savages south of the Ohio, and I was taken last night by a band which joined yours this morning while you slept."
"Why haven't they killed us?" asked Paul.
"I suppose they'd rather show us to the tribe first, or maybe they think they can adopt us, as Henry Ware was once. They haven't treated me badly."
"That may be because you were taken without any loss to them," said Paul. "We've had a big fight, and I'm the only one they got. Henry Ware, Tom Ross, Shif'less Sol, and the others beat them off."
"That was grand fighting!" said Braxton. "Tell me about it."
Wyatt's fellowship and sympathy greatly cheered Paul, and he told in detail about the battle with the band, and all that preceded it. Braxton Wyatt listened with attention, but more than once expressed surprise.
"How many did you say were left back there on the hill?" he asked at last.
"We were ten when we began the fighting," replied Paul. "One that I know of was killed, and it is likely that one or two more were. Then I'm gone. Not more than six or seven can be left, but they are the best men in all these woods. Twice their number of Indians cannot whip them."