“I wouldn’t give ten cents for Many-Scar’s life, slick as that Indian is,” Sandy whispered.
Dick nodded.
Though all felt they had no time to lose, since Govereau’s men might be expected to follow them, they could not leave Toma’s brother without burial.
All three set to work under the spruce trees, hacking through the frozen soil with axes. In a half hour they had dug a shallow grave. Wrapped in blankets, they gently lowered the body of Big John Toma to its last resting place.
Dick fashioned a rude cross from two saplings, which he showed to Toma. The young Indian nodded. “Good; him Christian—me too,” said the guide.
When they had placed the last sod on the mound, Dick and Sandy left their friend alone by the grave and went to the cabin to prepare for continuing their journey. They found much pemmican and dried fish, upon which Big John Toma had existed, but nowhere any flour or coffee. By the time they had arranged shoulder packs and had donned whatever warm clothes they had found, Toma had joined them. He seemed his old self once more, though Dick and Sandy knew that behind his mask of indifference was deep sorrow and a mighty resolve for the redskin’s revenge upon the murderer of his brother. The guide refused to take the money Dick offered him for the food and clothing they had taken from Big John’s cabin.
“We three days from Fort Dunwoody now,” Toma told them when they were ready for the trail. “Not sure we make um three days. Big blizzard come pretty soon now. Mebbe tomorrow. We get um dog sled then. Need um bad.”
All that day Toma led them due southeast, across higher ground, where vegetation was sparse. They crossed one shallow valley where there were no trees at all, and upon a ridge at the other side made camp. It was an advantageous spot from which to watch the back trail, and before they started on they were disturbed by the sight of three tiny figures. The men were undoubtedly on their trail. Straight across the valley they toiled and they were coming fast.
“I’ll bet it’s Govereau!” Dick exclaimed in alarm.
“Yes, and it looks as if we were only about three miles ahead of him,” Sandy declared. “Let’s get a move on. I don’t want to get mixed up with him again.”