"Careful, Tim, don't talk too much with these men around. They might overhear something."
The two boys had reached the major by now, and going up to him, saluted. Tim said that saluting a British major was the hardest work he had ever done in his short but eventful life.
The major was plainly upset by the loss his troops had suffered, but he evidently did not suspect the boys of anything wrong, for he smiled gravely when he saw them, and merely said, "There will be plenty of room in the troop for you two now, I think. We have driven off those red-skinned devils, but it has cost us pretty dearly. You two gave the first alarm, didn't you?"
"I think we were the first to discover the enemy," replied Tom, quietly.
"Good," returned the officer, "I shall remember your services."
When they had withdrawn, Tim had great difficulty in restraining his laughter, but they soon had to turn and help the wounded troopers, which effectually drove all thoughts of mirth out of the boys' minds.
The wounded men were made as comfortable as possible, and it was decided to dispatch a messenger to the ten troopers who had been sent down with the horses, to come up and convey them back to the nearest settlement for further care.
The dead were to be buried in the morning, and it was almost daybreak when the tired soldiers and Tom and Tim finally turned in to snatch a hasty nap. They threw out an ample picket line and waited for morning to take up the pursuit again.
Early on the morrow the camp was all astir, and before taking up the trail again, a council of war was held, and it was decided to execute the Indian prisoner, whose capture had brought about the attack, as a lesson to the redmen.