Toma nodded. “Yes,” he answered, “him talk about Henderson too. Him say he go see Henderson pretty soon. Then get scouting party an’ find you where you hide in the woods. Talk like Henderson no live very far away.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to make sure of,” Dick explained to Sandy, “and I’m almost certain that I know where the outlaw’s camp is.”
“Did you see the camp?” asked Sandy.
Dick shook his head. “No, I didn’t see it. Baptiste told me where it was.”
“But why did he do that? I should think he’d want to keep its location a secret.”
“He wanted me to go there and directed me to the place because he knew that the moment I walked into the outlaw’s camp Henderson would either kill me at once or make me his prisoner.”
In a few words Dick related his experiences at the house of the Brothers La Lond, of his escape, and, finally, of the accident that had befallen him.
“You’re hurt!” cried Sandy, suddenly jumping up. “Why, Dick, you should have told us before.”
The faces of Sandy and Toma were very grave as they stooped to untie his moccasin and examine the injured foot.
“Very bad sprain,” said Toma, straightening up. “I help you fix him, so after while you feel very much better. Sandy,” he ordered, turning to his still gaping companion, “you start build shelter right away. You, me work all night mebbe to make nice warm place. Dick stay here with bad foot one, two days, I think.”