The warrior was not dead, but he would revive slowly and painfully and for days there would be ten red and sore spots on his throat, where the fingers had sunk in. An ordinary scout would have thrust his knife at once into the heart of the warrior. It would have been the safest way, but Henry could not do it. He saw the great chest of the savage trembling as the breath sought a way to his lungs. He took his rifle, powder horn, bullet pouch, tomahawk and knife, and, bending low in the foliage, ran swiftly for the mouth of the cave.
He was quite confident that the fallen warrior was the last sentinel, and as he approached the entrance he called again and again in a loud whisper:
"Don't fire! Don't fire! It's me, Henry!"
At last came the whisper in reply:
"All right, Henry, we're waitin'."
He recognized the voice of Silent Tom, and the next instant he was inside, his hand and that of Tom Ross meeting in a powerful grasp, while Paul and Long Jim, aroused from sleep, expressed their delight in low words and strong handshakes.
"How in thunder did you git in, Henry?" asked Long Jim.
"I was brought in a sedan chair by four strong Indians, Wyatt walking on one side and Blackstaffe on the other as an escort. I told them that of all places in the world this was the one to which I wished most to come, and they put me down at the door, their modesty compelling them to withdraw."
"It's mighty good to see you again, Henry, no matter how you got here," said Paul. "Where is Sol?"
"Safe outside, just as I'm safe inside. I think I'll let him know that I've been successful."