“We can do one thing only,” Dick’s tone was tragic. “I’ll call for a party of volunteers and set out in pursuit.” He raised his voice: “Come now, who will be the first to go with me?”
Toma stepped forward.
“I go,” he said.
Sandy was scarcely a foot behind him.
“I’ll be one.”
A moment’s hesitation, then the tall form of a villager drew away from the crowd.
“I will accompany my white brothers,” he asserted.
Others also came forward. By ones and twos they shambled up—tragic-eyed men, frail, hollow-cheeked youths, white-haired veterans of a hundred trap-lines. Steadily they came and took their places at Dick’s side.
CHAPTER XXI
DISASTER LOOMS
Four miles is not far. In the north country, where distance plays such an important part in the lives of the inhabitants, four miles would be accounted but a step, a unit of space hardly worth considering. Yet to Dick and his party, who had set out in pursuit of the Indian invaders, it seemed a long way indeed. It was a weary trail and a hard one. It was fraught with danger, with grave foreboding.