The ranger’s situation was precarious. He could not turn back without running into the power of those he was fleeing from; nor could he turn to the right nor the left on account of the, almost, perpendicular hills on one side and the creek on the other. So there was no alternative but to ride directly through the heart of the village, and drawing his saber and giving his animal the reins, he dashed on.
He was half-way through the village ere the savages discovered the daring ranger in their midst, and was gone like the wind, before they had recovered sufficiently to pursue.
CHAPTER X.
A MIDNIGHT BURIAL.
Frank and Walter’s captors advanced toward the canoe in which Flick O’Flynn sat, and great was the Irishman’s relief when he saw that they did not penetrate his disguise.
For several moments the deaf and dumb Indian capered around the two young men, hoping to give them a signal, but unfortunately for him, in cutting these pranks, Walter gave him a kick in the stomach that fairly doubled him on the beach.
Presently one of the savages motioned for his supposed deaf and dumb comrade to take a seat in the stern of the canoe, which he accordingly did with a jump.
The captives were then placed on the seat next to him, facing the same way. Two of the savages with tomahawks seated themselves facing the captives, while the other two took up the paddles.
“Holy Vargin!” muttered the Irishman to himself, as the canoe shot out, “what if wees overtake the canoe with the rhale Mr. Lo into it? I niver thought of that—wirra!”
And this they were quite likely to do, for they moved rapidly down the stream; however, Flick O’Flynn was not long in making mental preparations for the emergency that was sure to come, and which did come sooner than he thought for.