“All around me are asleep,” thought Tom; “if only my hands and feet were not tied, I might escape.”
Hope kindled in his heart. He began to work upon the cords that confined his wrists, and succeeded in loosening them a little. He had a knife in his pocket. If only he could have got hold of that! But it would be necessary to unfasten his wrists first, and that was impossible.
Next he tried with his hands, fastened as they were, to release his feet, but he was forced to work at a disadvantage, and the knots were too secure.
“I must give it up as a bad job,” thought Tom. “Even if I got free, of which there isn’t much chance, I should not like to leave Mr. Brush and the doctor in captivity. It would seem mean.”
Tom’s chivalry was, perhaps, overstrained. I do not myself consider that he was under any obligation to remain and risk a terrible fate because he could not also rescue his two companions. Yet I like Tom better for his unselfishness.
The boy captive had just desisted from his futile attempt to extricate himself from his fetters, when, chancing to direct his gaze toward the Indian boy, he saw the bright eyes of the young chief fastened upon him.
Tom’s nature was intensely sympathetic, and forgetting that the young Indian was his natural foe, he smiled pleasantly.
The Indian boy seemed surprised, but even his unresponsive nature was affected by Tom’s bright look. His naturally grave face lighted up, and a faint smile showed Tom that his friendly overture was not thrown away.
It cheered him, and he thought, “I believe that boy would be my friend if they would let him. I wish my fate depended upon him.”
The Indian boy’s smile faded, and an expression of pain succeeded, while he pressed his hand upon his chest.