“To draw all the guards to this end of the village so that another attacking party could swoop down from the other side and play general havoc They got Brady and Father Bleriot and two of the Indian servants. No one was there to stop them. They had plenty of time to get away. Toma and I and the other guards came down here, while you were chasing away across country after your friend. Now, I ask you, what are we to do about it?”
Dejectedly, Dick put one of his rifles on the ground and sat down upon it. He was breathing hard, but not from the effects of the race. His triumph had been short-lived. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
“The villagers are panic stricken,” Sandy informed him. “They’re about done for. They’ve lost all hope, and I don’t think they’re to be blamed very much either.”
Dick raised his eyes. A crowd had gathered round him. It was a silent crowd. Dejection showed in every face. Somewhere, at the edge of the gathering a woman was crying softly. Dick staggered to his feet.
“Her husband was one of the servants the Indians took,” Sandy explained. “Everyone here believes that we’ve seen the last of those four men. They’ll all be murdered.”
Dick found his voice.
“Does anyone know which way that attacking party left?” he demanded.
“There are plenty who can testify to that. They went north into the barrens.”
“Is there an Indian village up that way?”
“Yes, about four miles from here. What do you suggest doing, Dick?”