“Where do you suppose he has gone?” demanded Joseph.
“I’ve no idea. Scouting, I guess.”
“I hope nothing happens to him,” exclaimed Joseph. “Suppose he should be killed. We’d be left in a nice fix; on an island in the middle of a swamp we know nothing about, and with no boat to take us off.”
“Don’t worry about anything happening to Deerfoot,” said Robert confidently. “He’ll be back here safe and sound before long.”
“I hope you’re right. Let’s go back to the hut and wait there.”
A few moments later the boys seated themselves in front of the little log cabin. They sat where the sun would shine directly upon them, for the early morning air was cold. They took especial care, however, to select a place where they would not be exposed to the view of any chance passerby. They knew enough about Indians to realize that one can never be too careful when attempting to remain hidden from them. An Indian will see the smoke of a camp fire for miles distant; the slightest noise will alarm him, and a trail is an open book for him to read.
“Do you suppose Black Hawk and his band could trace us here?”
“I doubt it,” said Joseph in response to his brother’s query. “They might have followed our trail up to the spot where we took the canoe. I don’t see how any human being could track us to this island though. If we are discovered it will only be by luck.”
Though hidden from the sight of passersby, the two boys were in a position where they could see all that occurred on the lagoon. As his brother finished speaking Robert half rose to his feet.
“Look!” he exclaimed.