Toma was motioning for them to bear to the right. They crawled off after the guide in that direction.
Neither Dick nor Sandy knew which of them made too much noise, or revealed some part of his body, yet they had crawled no further than a dozen paces when the guard moved, turned and looked straight at them. Toma, watching over his shoulder, fell flat, Dick and Sandy following his example. Had they been seen?
The guard, his rifle ready for use, started slowly toward them. Tensely, Dick and Sandy watched Toma for a sign as to what course to take. They saw Toma slowly turn to his side. The guide swung his rifle to his shoulder as he lay.
Just as the guard cried out, Toma fired.
The scar faced Indian whirled, dropped his rifle and fell to his knees, clutching at one shoulder. Dick and Sandy got a glimpse of the men at the fire leaping up and snatching their rifles, as they took to their heels after Toma.
For several minutes they sprinted in the wake of the young Indian’s flying heels, hearing behind the crash of their pursuers through the underbrush, and their cries to one another.
Then, before a hollow tree, half covered by the dead branches of a lightning-blasted pine tree, Toma halted suddenly. He motioned to them to follow and disappeared into the half-obscured hole in the tree. Dick and Sandy slipped in after him. There was barely enough room in the tree for three to stand upright, but they managed to crowd in, while Toma quickly arranged the dead branches over the hole until their hiding place was entirely covered from view.
The distant shouts grew louder, as the men beat the brush looking for them. Two came closer and closer, until at last they stopped before the hollow tree, so near that the three hidden feared their heavy breathing might be heard.
“I thought I saw ’em go this way,” one said, in a harsh voice.
“Mebbe so,” the other, apparently an Indian, answered. “It look like they jump in air an’ fly away.”