Finding himself once more on his feet, he had crept from the cave, harnessed his dogs and hitched them with those of the hunchback to the sled.
After seeing that they were all well armed with stout bows, he headed the double dog team back over the trail of the night before.
They would, he explained, follow this trail until they found themselves approaching the small lake on which the mystery plane had alighted. They would then circle the lake until they came upon the hunchback’s trail leading to the camp. It was this last trail that old Ginger and the aged prospector would follow if, as he firmly believed, the old leader had escaped and Sandy MacDonald was on his way to the rescue.
“And if we are too late, if MacDonald has gone before us and been captured, we will storm their place and rescue him if it costs a life!” Johnny had said with fierce determination.
The hunchback, though he spoke scarcely a word of English, appeared to understand, for he grinned, showing all his white teeth, and brandished his bow in a threatening manner.
For once they had met with good fortune. They had not been camped half an hour on the trail made by the hunchback on the night of the rescue when Sandy MacDonald appeared at the top of a ridge. Then it was that the aged Scotchman completely lost control of his team. Old Ginger was in the lead. Once he sighted his young master, he led the team in a stampede that ended only when he leaped up to kiss Johnny’s cheek, a kiss of which Johnny had no cause to be ashamed.
So now here they were, gathered in a narrow run, planning an attack.
“We might wait until night,” suggested Johnny.
“And in the meantime they’d be away in the plane, like as not,” objected the sturdy Scotchman. “Looks like the Lord had delivered them into our hands. We must take them.”
“But they may be desperate characters!”