Deerfoot reconnoitered the nearby ground, but saw nothing to alarm him. Everything was quiet, even the guns having ceased momentarily.
“We go now,” announced Deerfoot, and he and Robert bent down to pick up their wounded young companion. They were just lifting him from the ground when a warning shout caused them to set him down quickly once more.
“What was that?” cried Robert. He immediately seized his rifle and held it ready for instant use. Deerfoot, too, was instantly alert.
“Red!” The call was repeated. It was John Mason’s voice and Robert recognized it at once. The little band of scouts were not more than thirty or forty yards distant so that conversation could easily be carried on.
“What is it?” called Robert.
“Come back as quickly as you can!” shouted Mason. “I think there are two Indians stealing up on you through the long grass.”
“All right,” replied Robert.
“We’d better hurry, Deerfoot,” he exclaimed. “They say some Indians are creeping up on us here. We can’t waste any more time.”
“We wasted some listening to Mason,” Joseph remarked.
“I know it,” cried Robert impatiently. “Wouldn’t you think he could see that we were starting when he yelled at us? We’ll have to hurry more than ever now. Come on, Deerfoot,” he urged, and once more he bent down and grasped Joseph by his ankles.