“Dick, I see him!” exclaimed Roger, in fresh excitement; “and, sure enough, he is caught in the branches of that big tree over there. It isn’t a trap after all, but some one in trouble.”
“THEY PUSHED FORWARD, AND WERE SOON AT THE FALLEN TREE”
“And an Indian at that, Roger,” added the other, as he, too, managed to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate one.
“Will that make any difference; or do you think he may be just shamming?” asked Roger, hesitating.
“There is no mistake about his being in a bad fix,” ventured Dick. “He may not be terribly hurt, but the tree has pinned him down, you can see; and if we left the poor fellow there he would either starve to death or else be devoured by the wild beasts.”
“Oh! we never could have the heart to do that,” asserted Roger, who possessed a generous nature, like all his headstrong class.
They pushed forward, and were soon at the fallen tree. The Indian must have discovered their presence, for he had ceased groaning, as though too proud to show any sign of cowardice. A brave would sooner have his hand cut off than be reckoned timid or weak.
“How are we going to get him out of that trap?” Roger remarked, after they had looked the situation over. “We have no hatchet for cutting the limb, and my knife would never do the job in a day.”