CHAPTER XXIV
AN INDIAN’S GRATITUDE
For some time the three fugitives plodded through the pine forest that lay along the side of the mountain ridge, enclosing the wide valley in which the camp of the Indians had been pitched.
The snow was coming down in earnest now. It acted as though bent on making up for lost time; and, unless all signs failed, there would be an exceedingly heavy fall before they saw the sun again.
One comfort they found in this coming of the white mantle—they could not be tracked by Lascelles and his allies when their escape was discovered.
“Dick!” ventured Roger, after quite a long time had elapsed, and they found the snow getting constantly deeper underfoot.
“Well?”
“We have our guns, it is true, and that I count a fine thing, but of what use are they to us without our powder horns?”
“That was our misfortune, Roger, but we can borrow from Mayhew here. By being prudent we ought to make his supply go around.”
Imagine the feelings of the two boys when the guide gave utterance to an exclamation of disgust and chagrin.