“Knives is trumps!” replied Vic, “or I’m a knave. We’ve found a way out, so jist pack up yer duds an’ prepare to slide.”
Intensely delighted they were soon ready, and in half an hour Vic thought it was dark enough to start. Accordingly they left the scene of their troubles, and threaded the damp passages and low caverns to the other entrance.
“Keep powerful still,” admonished the trapper, as they neared the outside. “Don’t speak after we reach the open air, an’ walk mighty keerful; thar’s no tellin’ how clus the Injuns are. Varmints, but it’s a dark night! So much the better for us; now keep still.”
The trapper cautiously left the cave, followed by the others. When once outside Vic took the lead, and the others kept close to him, and in most profound silence they shaped their course toward the spot designated by Wild Nat.
A considerable time elapsed before they reached the leaning cottonwood. Wild Nat was not there, somewhat to Vic’s surprise and uneasiness, and the party quickly secreted themselves in the dense bushes near, so that, in case any straggling Indian came that way, they would be secure. Vic waited in some suspense for ten minutes, and then as the trapper was still absent, he concluded to give the signal.
Twice the long, solemn hoot of the owl rose on the air, so perfectly natural that Kent was surprised, and then, in a moment, came the answering hoot, thrice repeated, away to the left.
“All right!” said Vic; “he’ll soon be here.”
Ten more minutes passed, and then, clear and sweet, only a few yards distant, sounded the night-bird’s note, “Whippowil! whippowil!” in quick succession, twice repeated.
“Keep still!” admonished Vic; “I’m goin’ tew see what’s wanted. Thet’s Nat.”
The trapper dropped on his hands and knees, and crawled away. The trio in the thicket waited with intense solicitude for his return, but so silent was his approach, that he stood beside them before they were aware of it.