He fully believed Captain Clark would sally forth with some of the men, bent on attempting their rescue. It was only a question of keeping ahead of their persistent pursuers long enough to allow the others to come up.
“Faster, Roger, faster!”
Roger heard his comrade say this and he strove his utmost to obey, but the injured ankle was giving him more trouble every second and, despite his efforts, he failed to keep up to his usual standard of speed.
“My ankle—I’ve hurt it again!” he called out, between his set teeth.
Dick heard this with a thrill of horror. It seemed to seal their fate, for, if they could not increase their speed, the Indians were bound to overtake them long before any help might arrive.
He tried to catch hold of Roger’s arm, as though his first thought was to render assistance; but that was impossible when running as they were. Roger indeed shook himself free.
“Save yourself, Dick! I’m nearly done for!” he exclaimed.
Dick did not try to answer. He needed all his breath to carry him along; but, if he had spoken, it would have been to scorn indignantly the suggestion that he leave his chum behind, and look out for himself. Dick was not that kind of boy; and if need be he would stand by Roger, fighting to the end.
There was the swift-running river just beside them. Dick wished from the bottom of his heart that they could in some way make use of it in order to give their pursuers the slip; yet he could not decide how it could be accomplished.
If they jumped in, and attempted to swim across, there were undoubtedly among the half-naked braves many who could make faster progress, unhampered as they would be with clothes. Oh! if only one of the boats would shoot into view, manned by a couple of the brave fellows whose guns would soon work havoc among the natives and put them to flight!