“I want to go home,” exclaimed Joseph.
“So do I,” echoed Robert. “I want to know what has happened to our family.”
“No go home,” protested Deerfoot. “All family dead. You know that.”
“That may be true,” said Joseph, “but I want to see with my own eyes. Do you think I could just go away now and never know for sure that all my family were dead? Even if they have been killed, and I’m afraid that’s what has happened, I want to go back. I want to give them a decent burial at least.”
“That’s just the way I feel,” exclaimed Robert.
“You may be killed, too,” protested Deerfoot.
“I’ll take that chance,” insisted Joseph. “You don’t have to go with us if you don’t want to, you know. At any rate I think that would be the last place they would think of looking for us. They won’t think that we’ll dare go back there.”
“That’s right, Joe,” exclaimed his brother. “Are you going with us, Deerfoot?”
“Deerfoot go where you go,” said the Indian shortly.
Without another word they set out. Deerfoot led the way as usual, with the two brothers following close behind him. Extreme caution was used, as they did not know when the hostile band of Indians might suddenly loom up in their path. They had covered not more than a mile when Deerfoot suddenly held up his hand and the boys instantly came to a full stop.