"God bless him!" murmured Bob, strangely moved by this evidence of the woodranger's devotion.
"Tired as he was with half a day's tramp," the settler went on, "and hardly waiting to replenish his stock of powder and ball, as well as to secure an extra flint and steel for his tinder bag, Pat O'Mara rushed away, following the trail."
"Alone?" gasped Sandy.
"It could not be otherwise," replied the other, sadly. "Here were eight of the defenders of the settlement away on a hunt. One man must be sent out to carry you the terrible news, as well as urge a hasty return. Since we thus knew that hostiles were apparently on the warpath, we dared not weaken our fighting force further, much as we felt for your good mother."
"Then let us hasten home without any further delay," said Bob, firmly, while the light of a great resolution shone in his brave eyes. "Take courage, Sandy; all is not lost! We can follow the wicked thieves; and already our friend Pat O'Mara is hot on the trail! How many of the Indians were there, did he say, Mr. Harkness?"
"I think four in all, counting the one who seized your sister," came the reply.
The eyes of the two boys sought each other's face; it was as though the same thought had instantly flashed into both minds.
"The young Seneca chief, Black Beaver!" exclaimed Sandy.
"He had three companions with him," Bob went on; "and, instead of continuing on to his far distant village, which he declared was away up on the shore of the Great Lakes, the treacherous dog has hovered about the settlement ever since that day, waiting for a favorable chance to come when he could steal our little sister away. That time came when he saw us depart with the rest on this big hunt!"