“You seem to be veering off to the side, Dick; we’re getting farther and farther away from that ridge, back of which lies the river. What is that for?” asked Roger, after a while.
“In the first place,” replied the other, always willing to explain, “when the Indians find out that we’ve slipped away, they are likely to scatter, and search the woods for miles, believing that they may get trace of us in that way. Then, Roger, I’m too tired to think of keeping up this walk long. I want to get in the saddle, and ride, which we can do if once we find the open country.”
“Good for you, Dick; I’ll be glad myself when we can mount, and coax the horses to a gait faster than a walk,” Roger declared.
Several times Dick had paused. He seemed to be listening, and it was not difficult for his companion to guess why.
“Do you expect to hear them give tongue when they find the nest empty?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” replied his cousin. “They will be bitterly disappointed, that goes without saying; and when they strike a light, and start to following our tracks, as I’m sure they will do, we will probably hear them. Listen, Roger. What did I tell you?”
The night wind chanced to be coming from a point almost directly back of them, so that sounds were carried on its breath. First came a long quavering cry that seemed to be filled with bitter disappointment. Then followed a series of quick, angry yelps, that made Roger think of a pack of fighting dogs.
“They know now that we’ve given them the slip, don’t they, Dick?” chuckled Roger, whom even the recent peril did not seem to have daunted.
“They certainly do,” answered the other.