By this time the Indians had ceased their low droning talk. Only one of them was still sitting there cross-legged, smoking his red clay pipe. Dick did not doubt that somewhere in the gloom one or two sentries, or videttes, had been posted, in order to guard against a surprise in every way possible, though of course he could not see the first sign of their presence.
Only the customary sounds of a summer night in the wilderness came to the ears of the captive pioneer boys. Most of these were very familiar to them, on account of their habit for years of spending nights out of doors.
Still, somehow, things did not seem quite the same as usual. It was different listening to the hoot of the owl, the croak of the night heron, the complaint of the tree-frog calling for more rain, or even the barking of a red fox somewhere in the forest, when tied up in this way, and facing such a gloomy outlook.
“Dick,” whispered Roger, “isn’t it nearly time?”
“Not yet,” replied the other in the same cautious manner, “hold your horses, and have patience, Roger. Another hour or two must go by before I dare start in.”
Poor impatient Roger groaned, and relapsed into silence again. Oh! how time did drag along. It seemed to the boy he would go fairly wild, waiting for something to break that terrible monotony.
There were no stars overhead by means of which they could tell how the night was wearing on. Dick had to resort to other means by which to mark the passage of time; still he knew fairly well when the hour of midnight approached.
Meanwhile Roger had finally fallen asleep, uncomfortable as his position was. Dick could just manage to see, by straining his eyes, that his chum’s head had fallen forward upon his chest, as though tired Nature had overcome him.
Dick concluded that there was no use waiting any longer to put his plan into operation. Everything about the camp seemed silent, and, although he took a desperate chance, the boy believed he would gain nothing by further delay.