Far away could be heard the dismal howling of a wolf pack. An owl sent out a mournful hoot from the depths of the pine woods on the side of the mountain. But back there, where the dying camp fire flickered, and the red men slumbered, not a sound arose. Roger marveled more than ever. He knew that his eyes had not deceived him, and that the Indian had actually watched them making their escape. But what magic had rendered his tongue mute the boy could not guess.
When half a mile had been placed between them and the hostile camp Dick broke the silence.
“Do you think we are safe away, Mayhew?” he asked, cautiously.
“It looks that way,” replied the figure plodding ahead of the boys; “and I must say it beats all how you managed to get free from those deerskin thongs. There are other things that puzzle me, too; but all that can keep until later.
“Oh! I am glad to hear you say you believe we are well out of that fix!” exclaimed Roger, who had looked back nervously over his shoulder many times, and even shuddered at hearing the slightest rustling sound, dreading lest the tricky Indians might be creeping after them, and suddenly awaken the echoes of the pine forest with their war-whoops.
“It was one of the closest calls we ever had,” admitted Dick.
“And we have known a good many of them,” added Roger, with a slight return of his old feeling of elation, for the reaction was beginning to set in, so that from the depths of despair he would soon find himself elevated to the heights of exultation.
“One thing that none of us has thought to notice so far,” commented Dick, “is that it has at last commenced to snow as though it meant business.” When he brought this fact to their attention the others perceived that it was indeed so, for already the ground had begun to turn white.