“Say ‘No,’ boy.”
“No!”
The trader rose to his feet.
“Dorsey, something’s going on among the young braves,” he said. “They’ve been hobnobing in groups for several hours, and p’r’aps they want to take one of us three down to the hollow.”
“Should they take us, we’ll escape, Doc.”
“Yes, but we’ll not be taken. Our guards are old fellows, and the young Chips will not interfere with them. Ahdeek’s guards are young larks, and mind I tell you, if they take anybody ’twill be the dark boy. For that reason they separated us; the old warriors knew that the young ’uns would want a victim, an’ so they set Ahdeek aside for them.”
“They won’t kill the boy,” said the White Tiger, confidently. “He’ll elude the red devils.”
“Yes, he’s too much for ’em. Dorsey Webb, I’m the last of the traders,” and the speaker ground his teeth till the guards, attracted by the grating sound, moved nearer the wigwam and listened.
After the battle in the White Tiger’s cave, the three captives were conveyed to the Chippewa village, and thrust into wigwams which were strongly guarded.
Nothing definite concerning their fate had been revealed. The Indians were reticent; but their lowering looks and the clamorings of the squaws foretold a dark future.