When some hours had passed since the sun went down, Roger complained that his legs were actually giving out under him. Perhaps some of the Indians had noticed that his gait was becoming rather wobbly; for a word was spoken, and to the great relief of the white prisoners they came to a halt.
The Sioux took the precaution to tie their ankles with deerskin thongs; but no fire was kindled, nor were there any signs of a meal in prospect. Perhaps some of those prostrate braves chewed at dry pemmican as they lay there, resting; but, even though they had not a single bite, that would have mattered little, so great were their powers of endurance when out on the hunt, or the warpath. The same warriors would doubtless loiter around the village for days and weeks, and appear to be the most indolent and lazy of their kind, until an occasion arose for them to once more display their ability to withstand fatigue and hunger.
The weary boys slept, in spite of their discomfort. Nature would not be denied; and while Dick woke up several times during the night, he found himself much refreshed as dawn broke once more.
Again was the march resumed, and all through the day, with only a short stop at about noon, did they keep heading into the northwest.
Roger would have given out but for the earnest pleas of his cousin, and his own natural dislike to appear weak in the eyes of these brawny braves. They had been given some dry food in the morning, before the start was made, and also at noon, and, though neither had much heart for eating, Dick advised that they force themselves to do so, because they would surely need all their strength in order to pull through.
Again and again did Dick continue to paint a possible rainbow of promise in the blank heavens; but Roger could not see it, no matter how earnestly he looked.
“I’ll try to keep going, just to please you, Dick,” he would say; “but I’m feeling so terribly that it would almost be a mercy if one of these fellows put an arrow through me right now.”
It was toward the end of the afternoon that the Indians with them set up a loud and triumphant series of whoops.
“We must be near the village!” declared Dick, and even forlorn Roger brightened up a little.
“I hope so,” he remarked, with a sad smile; “because it’ll be a change anyway, no matter what comes. And I tell you, I’ve just about got to the end of my rope.”