Ahdeek remained sullen during the dressing of his wound, which was not so bad as it might have been, the heavy hunting-frock having protected his flesh.
“I do not think the Indians killed Doc Cromer,” said the Destroyer, looking up from the meal they were discussing before the blaze. “I couldn’t find his body after the massacre, and I wonder that he has not been here. You know, boy, that he was the only trader who knew our cave.”
“Oh, he dead, like all the traders!” said the half-breed. “Indians make sure work of traders. Pontiac got long arms and strong voice.”
The final word still quivered Ahdeek’s lips, when the boy Destroyer dropped his pemmican at the edge of the fire, and leaped to his feet.
A second later the half-breed followed his example, and side by side the twain stood facing the entrance with ready rifles.
A score of rifle-shots, scarcely distinguishable from a single report, had risen above the noise of the storm, just beyond the mouth of the castle.
“The Chips are everywhere!” exclaimed the youth, in a low tone. “Who can they be chasing to-night?”
The question was answered by the sound of footsteps, and the next moment a figure bounded from the corridor into the firelight. Upon a sight of it, the faces of the tenants of the cave touched their rifle-stocks; but the Destroyer quickly dropped his weapon and covered Ahdeek’s flint with his hand.
“Spare him, Ahdeek!” he cried. “’Tis Cromer, thank God!”
The new-comer looked up at the mention of his name, uttered a light cry of joy, staggered forward, and then sunk heavily to the ground.