Dick ordered the crowd back with an authoritative wave of his arm. His feeling of hopelessness and despair had given place to anger, to a consuming, burning rage. The Indians had defied him openly. They were making a fool out of him. They had called his bluff.
It occurred to him that he could recruit another attacking party and go to the doctor’s rescue. But the memory of his experience of the night before still rankled in his mind. No—if he were to accomplish anything, it would be through his own efforts, and with the assistance of only Sandy and Toma. He beckoned to his chums.
“Let’s go back to the billet,” he suggested, “and talk this thing over.”
As his two friends came up, he linked his arms in theirs and began:
“I can see now, Sandy, that I have made a terrible mistake. I’ve got myself in a hole and may never be able to get out of it. Just the same, I don’t intend to give up. I’m not licked yet. I want to know if you boys will stand behind me.”
“Yes, Dick, we’re with you,” Sandy assured him.
“You depend on us,” added Toma.
Back in the billet again, they commenced to lay their plans. On the previous night they had tried, by the superiority of their numbers, to intimidate the enemy. They had failed. Now they would employ stealth. That night, they decided, the three of them would creep up to the Indian village and attempt a rescue.
“We may be successful,” said Sandy. “We have a chance, at any rate.”
“Our last chance, too,” declared Dick. “If we fail in this, it is all over.”