“Don’t worry about that. Deerfoot will wake up all right.”
The brothers lapsed into silence but they did not sleep. They had had more rest than Deerfoot recently and were not in such need of sleep as was their guide. In addition, the ground was hard and lumpy, and no matter which way they adjusted themselves it seemed as if some particularly hard bump was immediately underneath them. The ground was hard and the grass was dry, for but little rain had fallen recently, and this fact only served to make their beds more uncomfortable. They obtained some rest, however, and were ready to start again when Deerfoot gave the word.
He opened his eyes presently and sat up. A moment later he sprang to his feet, while the two brothers quickly followed his example.
“Wind blow now,” grunted Deerfoot.
“It is freshening,” agreed Joseph. “It’s right in our faces too.”
It was at least two hours before the dawn when they once more resumed their march. The wind blowing over the prairie was cool in their faces and sweet with the odor of grass and the earth. Soon they would come to the Scott’s home where they were confident that they would be heartily welcomed and furnished with a sumptuous meal. Perhaps the Scotts would join them in their flight to Dixon’s Ferry; at any rate they could be warned of the presence of warlike Indians in the vicinity. These and similar thoughts occupied the minds of the two brothers as they hurried on their way.
They had covered perhaps five of the six miles when Deerfoot suddenly stopped. He bent slightly forward as if he was listening to something, and imitating him Joseph and Robert both listened intently. No sound came to them, however, but evidently the case was different with Deerfoot. For some moments he remained in a listening attitude, and then turned to his young friends.
“War whoop,” he said quietly.
“What!” exclaimed Joseph and Robert together.
“War whoop,” repeated Deerfoot. “Black Hawk kill Scotts.”