Bewildered from sleep, Dick could not imagine what sound Sandy alluded to, when abruptly there came to his ears the faint report of a rifle.
“There it is again!”
The boys jumped to their feet, gazing fearfully out through the storm. They trembled at the thought of what might now have happened. They stood shivering in the teeth of the icy gale, their faces gray with apprehension. After a time, following the first shock, Dick turned to Sandy.
“It frightened me at first,” he confessed. “Thought it was the half-breed. For a moment, I didn’t think about Toma. He probably saw a moose or bear and fired at it.”
Sandy was not so sure. He shook his head doggedly, staring gloomily away in the direction of the river.
“We’d better investigate, Dick,” he trembled. “Even if Toma did see a moose, I doubt very much whether he would have taken a shot at it.”
“The hunting instinct in every Indian is strong,” argued his chum. “Even you or I would have been liable to act the same under similar circumstances.”
Sandy was not convinced. With his moccasined feet he kicked at a drift of freshly fallen snow. Nervously, his hand played with the holster at his belt.
“Perhaps I’m foolish, but I can’t help thinking that something has gone wrong. The sound we just heard, although fainter, was very much like the one we heard this afternoon when Pearly was wounded. Besides, if I remember correctly, Toma has no rifle. All he has in the way of firearms is a small automatic, which could not possibly make as much noise as we heard just now.”
Dick’s face became sober again. He looked at Sandy in alarm.