"I am not sure, Bob," he replied, with quivering lips; "but I believe I could catch something that sounded like—Indians!"
His brother nodded his head at these words.
"I did not like to say so, for fear I might have been mistaken; but it sounded like that to me," he said, gravely.
Now it was Bob who dropped his hoe, and stooped to possess himself of his gun. Carefully he looked to see that the priming was in order, since everything always depended upon a small pinch of powder being in the pan when the time for firing arrived. The flint never failed to strike sparks; but, lacking powder, these would be of no avail.
"Had we not better run for the house?" suggested Sandy, glancing over across the field toward the cabin, where the smoke arose from the clay chimney, the whole forming a peaceful scene in the sunshine of that late summer morning.
"They have not heard the sounds yet, I think," said Bob, as he failed to note any signs of excitement around the log cabin; "and it would be cruel to frighten mother, if there is no need. Let us wait a bit longer, Sandy. We can easily cover that little distance if there is necessity."
So the boys continued to stand there, gripping their guns, and waiting. Meanwhile it can be readily understood that both lads turned anxious eyes in all directions.
"It seems to me the shouts are not so loud as before," said Bob, presently.
"That might be because the running men have reached their homes," quickly remarked his brother.
"Perhaps we had better go to the cabin. We can say we came in for fresh water, if mother wonders at seeing us. After all it may amount to nothing;" but, hardly had Bob Armstrong completed this sentence, than a new sound came to their ears that sent them running like mad in the direction of the humble home in the clearing.