Turning to his white allies the Miami chieftain spoke in a rapid tone. Although Bob could understand only a word or two, nevertheless he grasped the meaning of what Little Turtle said; and knew that he was warning Girty and McKee not to think of injuring either of the boys who had been taken under the especial protection of Pontiac, the master schemer.
“Are they going to let us pass on, or do they mean to start a fight?” asked Sandy, whose manner showed that he was by no means averse to trying conclusions with the two ugly desperadoes who had thrown their fortunes in with the Indians, so that they could no longer find a friendly greeting at the cabin of a single white settler.
“No danger of our being halted,” Bob hastened to reply, fearful lest the impulsive Sandy might attempt some sort of play that would open hostilities, when there was no necessity.
“Come, we’d bist be on our way, av we hope to rach the sittlement before the flood arrives,” said Pat, beginning to retreat, still keeping watch on the renegades; for no white man who had his senses about him would ever be so foolish as to turn his back on such a treacherous snake in the grass as Simon Girty.
They were soon far enough away from the camp to feel safe, especially since the keen eyes of Blue Jacket saw that not one of the three whom they had left there had made any move toward following them.
“How is your ankle going to hold out, Sandy?” asked Bob, who feared the worst.
“It’s just got to do,” was the determined reply. “I mean to go on until I drop; but I shall keep up with you. If the worst comes, you can leave me behind somewhere, and the rest push on, for, unless the warning is received, our people may be caught asleep in their cabins, and carried away, like that log was.”
Sandy was possessed of considerable grit, inherited from his sturdy Scotch ancestors, no doubt. When he set those teeth of his firmly together it meant that he was just bound to do, or die. And in many a tight hole that stubborn trait served him a good turn, just as it had also gotten the boy into heaps of trouble.
When he limped, Bob threw an arm around him; or it might be the genial trapper gave him such assistance as lay in his power. Indeed, deep down in his own mind, though he did not say as much, Pat O’Mara was determined that if he had to take the lame boy upon his broad back, as an Indian squaw would her little papoose, he was bound to see to it that Sandy reached his home with the rest of them.