“Don’t do it, boy,” answered the trader, quietly and with a smile. “My hands are in a delicate situation, too. S’pose we ask one o’ the guards to cut us loose.”
The youth bit his lip and threw himself down on the couch again. Then he rolled over on his face and recalled the past, which he associated with Ahdeek, and thought of the dark boy’s doom.
Several hours flitted over him in that position, while Doc Cromer continued to peer through the crack upon the Indian village.
Suddenly a distant shout fell upon the latter’s ear, and he turned to the boy.
“Boy, did you hear that?”
“No,” answered the Tiger, starting up. “If it was a cry, Doc, what did it mean?”
“It war a cry, and it meant that a gang of Injuns is comin’ into town with a captive.”
“A captive? Who can it be?”
“I’m puzzled,” said Doc. “The traders ar’ dead, an’ Injun don’t fight Injun in this war. Come hyar an’ look through this crack. We’ll see presently who’s comin’.”
The youth rose and moved to a crack below the one through which his fellow-prisoner had been taking observations, and in silence they watched for the returning band.