But, when morning came, Blue Jacket could not be found. He had vanished again, after his usual way of leaving the cabin of his friends.
"Here is some Indian picture writing on this piece of white birch bark, that he left behind him," said Sandy, when he had looked everywhere without finding the dusky guest, who had slept on the hard floor by the fire, using for a bed only a bearskin thrown on the hard puncheon floor.
By this time the two boys had learned to read the sign language of the Indians to a fair extent. Blue Jacket himself had taken pains to teach them many things that had to do with his people, and their odd ways.
Consequently, between them Bob and Sandy started to figure out just what the various signs stood for. But this time the friendly young Shawanee had confined his efforts to one subject. Cabins and wigwams were given over to the flames, for the smoke curled up above each one. The various rude figures in sight they could understand to be Indian braves, carrying on the massacre, dancing around fires, and waving objects in the air that must stand for scalps.
"It is only the same warning he gave us last night," said Bob. "He wants to make us believe that all this is coming, and we must keep on guard, day and night. But there was little need of that, because in Anthony Brady we have a leader who sleeps with one eye open. Whatever comes, this little Ohio River settlement will never be caught napping."
It was indeed a time that tried men's souls. And even pioneer boys felt the terrible responsibility resting on their young shoulders, for, as soon as a lad could aim and fire a gun, he became one of the defenders of the home, and must face danger bravely, or be branded as a coward by his kind.
"When we go out hunting after this we must always be on the watch for sneaking enemies," said Sandy, with a tinge of disgust in his voice.
"I only hope the scare will die out," ventured Bob, though his manner told that he did not have great faith in this direction.
"Well, we must not pull too long faces about it," remarked Sandy; "because poor mother is dreadfully worried even now about what may come to pass. We can't prevent it, do what we will, and there's no use crying till you're hurt."
From that time on a feeling of uneasiness rested over the little settlement. Men went about their daily tasks as usual; but many suspicious glances were cast upon the heavy forest beyond the clearing, as though they might be wondering how soon it would be before the shrill war cries of the painted foe burst from those gloomy depths, and blazing cabins told that the worst had come to pass.