“It is our guns, Roger,” the other went on hastily.
“What about them?” demanded Roger. “We will never be given a chance to snatch them away from the braves who are now carrying them so proudly. And, even if we did, what would two shots mean among twenty foes?”
“You don’t understand me,” Dick replied. “Our guns are an object of curiosity to every warrior. They will be sure to carry them to the big chief, as his property. Of course not one of them knows a thing about how the ‘shooting-sticks’ are used to make the great noise, and cause the game to fall down, while no arrow is seen to shoot through the air. Then he will send for us, perhaps, and make us an offer to spare our lives if we will show him how to fire the guns, and be taken into the tribe. Yes, I think our only hope lies in the secret of shooting the fire and smoke from those guns. But here they come to get us now.”
“And I’m tired already from our long walk,” sighed Roger. “I hope they won’t try to keep it up all night, for I’d drop in my tracks. And, Dick, we’d have shown more sense if we’d just stuck to the camp, and waited for Jasper to come in.”
Dick was thinking the same thing himself; but then he was not much of a fellow to cry after the milk was spilt. What was done could not be helped and, instead of bemoaning their hard luck, Dick believed in cudgeling his brains in an effort to find some solution to the problem.
The Sioux had evidently decided to head direct for their distant village. Their unexpected luck in making prisoners of the two white boys had excited them considerably. They seemed to think that when those at home saw the palefaces they would forgive the lack of fresh meat. Antelope and buffalo could be killed at any time, but it was a rare event to have white prisoners in the strong lodge, and be given a chance to handle those wonderful “shooting-sticks” that, when pointed at an enemy, spat out flame and smoke, and in some mysterious way encompassed the death of the thing aimed at.
Forming around the prisoners, the warrior band started off. Both boys felt as though a heavy weight had been attached to their shoulders, their spirits had so fallen. Just a short half hour before they had been full of eager anticipation concerning the expected meeting with Jasper Williams; but now the heavens had clouded over, and all was gloom.
Still, they took pattern from the jaunty manner of the Wolf. He had been sorely wounded in his fight with the three Sioux who had pounced upon him, after a descending brave had knocked him down and clutched him, but not for worlds would the Wolf show the white feather.
“We can do no less than a red heathen, Roger,” Dick had said, when calling the attention of his cousin to the proud manner of the other prisoner; and somehow this seemed to have a great influence upon both white boys, so that they forced themselves to appear quite at their ease, even while inwardly groaning with physical pain, and mental tortures respecting their uncertain future.
Long did the Sioux walk in that steady manner. Night fell, but they gave not the slightest evidence of feeling distressed, although doubtless they, too, had been on the go since early dawn.