"Where?"
"Mr. Grant sort o' hid his rifle and things, for fear some un might steal 'em, I s'pose. I know where they be; and I reckon them redskins won't find 'em."
"Let us not think of resistance. There must be hundreds of Indians at the settlement."
"'Sh!" said Ethan, impressively. "They're comin'."
The light step of the moccasoned feet of the savages was now distinctly heard in the barn. Their guttural jargon grated harshly on the ears of the fugitives in their concealment, as they tremblingly waited the issue.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE INDIAN BOY.
Above the voices of the other savages, the harsh and heavy tones of Lean Bear were prominent. He spoke in the Indian dialect, and of course the anxious fugitives could not understand what he said; but he seemed to be angry and impatient, disappointed and chagrined; and Ethan and Fanny readily inferred that, as he was searching for them, he was the more ferocious because he could not find them. They lay silent and motionless in their hiding-place, hardly daring to breathe, lest a sound should reach the quick ears of their relentless foes.
The Indians searched in every nook and cranny of the barn where a human being could possibly be concealed. They climbed to the top of the mow, pulled over the hay, jumped upon it, and thrust their knives deep down. The fugitives felt the weight of the pursuers pressing heavily down upon them; they realized that the points of the bloody knives were within a short distance of their vital organs; but, breathless and silent, they lay in the most agonizing suspense, expecting to be dragged from their retreat, and subjected to atrocities which it froze their blood to think of.