“Yes, I hear,” replied Tom, “but I won’t do much helping, I can tell you that.”
He thought of the rocks that were to be rolled down on the redcoats, and did not like the prospect of being taken along with the force when it made its way along the path, in going to the valley.
Would the settlers roll the stones down, he wondered? They would, unless they knew that he was among the party. But would they discover this fact? If they did not, Tom would likely be killed by a rock, the same as if he were a redcoat.
CHAPTER XVI
The Search for Dick
Ben Foster kept struggling on through the woods and darkness for quite a while, and then, not hearing any sounds of pursuit, he paused and listened intently for a few moments, after which he gave a low, but penetrating whistle, the same signal that the three youths often used. If Dick were within two or three hundred yards, he would hear and reply to the signal.
There came no reply, however, and after waiting a few minutes, Ben whistled again, with the same result.
Then he set out through the forest, but did not go far, before stopping again.
“I’m not going any farther till I know where Dick is,” he murmured, “He may have gotten into trouble, may have fallen and knocked his head against a tree and fallen into the hands of the redskins again. I’ll stay here till morning, and then see if I can find him.”
Ben found a place at the foot of a big tree, and lying down, was soon asleep. He slept till morning, and then sat up and looked around him.
All was quiet, and there were neither redskins nor redcoats in sight.