The struggle, which lasted but a few minutes, was an unequal one.

Another arrow was fired, and it grazed his left hand, causing the blood to flow freely, and making the stains afterward discovered by Dave. Then one of the red men came up behind the trees, and reaching out struck him with the flat side of a tomahawk. Henry tried to turn and grapple with his a.s.sailant, but suddenly his senses left him and he knew no more.

"'Tis one of the Morris family," said the Indian with the torch, in his native tongue. He made an examination. "He is not dead."

"A good capture," said another. "We must take him along. Gonawak, you must help to carry him."

"And what of the woman?" asked the warrior addressed as Gonawak, well known throughout that territory for his extreme cruelty.

"Talking Deer will take care of her," was the answer. "He is to take care of all of them until this raid is over."

But little more was said, and in a few minutes the unconscious form of the young hunter was picked up and borne through the forest in the direction of the nearest stream. As has been said, water leaves no trail, and for this reason the redmen instinctively used the shallow stream for a roadway.

When Henry regained his senses he found himself strapped to the back of a horse and moving slowly westward through the forest. The wound on his hand had been allowed to bleed itself out. He felt both weak and stiff and had a dull ache in his head, where the tomahawk had landed and raised a good-sized lump.

By a blaze on the animal's neck, Henry recognized the horse he rode as one belonging to a pioneer living in that vicinity. He was in the company of nine redmen, four of whom were mounted on stolen horses. From this he inferred that the Risley cabin was not the only one which had been attacked on that fatal night.

He looked around, but could see nothing of Mrs. Risley nor of any other captives. He was alone with the savage warriors, and what they intended to do with him there was no telling. But he had good reasons for believing that a horrible fate was in store for him.

"I must get away if I can," he thought. "They can't do any more than shoot me if I try to escape, and even that will be better than to be burnt at the stake."

The Indians now noticed that he had recovered consciousness, and one of them rode closer and said sharply:

"White hunter boy must keep still. If yell will strike him!" And he flourished his tomahawk threateningly.

"Where are you taking me?" questioned Henry. But the Indian would not answer and only told him to keep quiet.

It was growing morning when the small band came to a halt, at the bank of a wide stream where there was a series of rapids among the rocks.

Henry was cut loose and ordered to dismount. Then he was led to a nearby tree and tied up once more.

"Will you give me a drink?" he asked of one of the Indians, but for answer the redman slapped him sharply over the mouth and told him to hold his tongue.

Suffering much from thirst and from the wound on his left hand, which had now begun to swell, Henry watched the Indians as they prepared an early morning meal, for the light of dawn was now showing in the east. A fire of very dry wood, which would give little smoke, was lighted and over this two of the redmen prepared some deer meat they had been carrying. The smell of the cooking venison was tantalizing to Henry, but he knew better than to ask for a portion of the repast. Once or twice the Indians came up to him but only to jibe at him and poke him with their guns or their bows, while one made a move with his hunting knife as if to cut out the young hunter's heart.

While the Indians were busy eating Henry tugged at his bonds with all the strength he could muster. But he was too weak, and the warriors had bound the rawhides too firmly, for the youth to budge them. He only made his wound break out afresh, and then had to stop, well-nigh exhausted with his effort.

"Getting away is out of the question," he thought, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "They will keep a sharp watch on me until they get back to their village and then they will take great delight in torturing me in every way they can think of. Oh, what savages they are, every one of them!"

Thus musing, Henry watched the Indians eat their meal. When they had finished one warrior came to him with some of the sc.r.a.ps and with a cup full of dirty water.

"White hunter boy can eat," said the Indian, and untied one of his hands. It was far from an appetizing meal and was decidedly scant. But it was better than nothing, and not wishing to starve to death Henry ate all that was offered him and drank the water to the last drop. Then his loose hand was once again fastened behind him.

The Indians were now holding a consultation, sitting close to the dying embers of the fire and smoking their long-stemmed pipes. But little of what was said reached Henry's ears, yet he caught the words "big feast"

and "burn at stake" spoken in the Indian tongue. At this he had to shudder in spite of every effort to control his feelings.

"I must get away!" he thought. "I must! I'm not going to allow them to burn me at the stake! It's horrible. I've heard all about old Sol Harper and d.i.c.k Waterbury, and how they suffered. I'd rather be shot.

They'll--Oh!"

His thoughts came to a sudden end, and for the instant he felt that he must be dreaming. His eyes had strayed to the bushes on the opposite bank of the stream. A white hand was raised warningly and the bushes parted slowly, showing the face of his old friend, Sam Barringford.

Henry nodded, to show that he had seen the old frontiersman. Then the bushes closed again and Sam Barringford disappeared.

CHAPTER XI

SAM BARRINGFORD'S RUSE

The appearance of his old frontier friend gave Henry's hopes a bound upward. He felt that he could rely upon Sam Barringford to do his utmost for him in securing his release. He felt equally sure that Barringford had been following the band for some time, trying to gain a chance to rush in and cut his bonds.

It was true that Barringford numbered but one against nine, and would have stood small chance against them in an open fight, but Henry knew the old frontiersman too well to imagine that Barringford would thus expose himself to a stray shot that might kill him. His friend had learned the value of playing a "waiting game," and would do nothing rash unless the occasion actually demanded it.

The best part of half an hour went by, and still the Indians remained around the camp-fire, smoking and discussing the situation. Occasionally one would glance toward Henry and perhaps raise a tomahawk threateningly, meaning thereby that an attempt to escape would be punishable by death. To these movements Henry paid no attention.

The young hunter's ears were on the alert, for he half expected that Barringford might be coming up behind him to cut his bonds. At last he heard his name mentioned in a low, guarded tone:

"Henry!"

"Sam," he returned, without apparently moving his lips.

"I'm right behind, lad. Do as I tell you and gittin' away may come easy.

I'll cut yer rawhides, but don't you attempt ter move till yer hear a noise in the woods an' the Injuns run fer the spot. Then dust straight back, an' I'll jine you fast as I kin. Do you understand?"

"Yes," answered Henry, as softly as before.

"All right. Now tell me when them measly critters ain't lookin'. I can't see 'em from here."

After this there was a few minutes of silence. Henry watched the nine redmen as never before. Several faced him, but now they turned away for a moment and he communicated that fact to Sam Barringford.

Instantly a hand glided around the side of the tree and a sharp hunting knife slid along the rawhides which bound the youth's hands and feet.

The bonds about the tree were already severed.

"Now I'm goin'," whispered Barringford. "Don't run till they ain't a-noticin' of you--unless, o' course, they come straight at you."

As silently as he had come Sam Barringford retreated, keeping the tree and some brushwood between himself and the enemy. Once more Henry was left alone, and again many anxious minutes pa.s.sed.

Suddenly from a distance up the stream came a shot, followed by another, and then a well-known Indian war-whoop. The voice of a white man, calling out loudly, was heard, followed by another war-cry, and a crashing and splitting of a tree branch.

Throwing down their pipes all the Indians around the camp-fire leaped to their feet and seized their weapons. With one accord they bounded up the stream to learn what the encounter so close at hand could mean. The war-whoop used was their own. Some of their own tribe must be making an attack or must be in danger.

No sooner had the Indians turned to leave him than Henry dropped his bonds and leaped behind the tree. With all possible speed he rushed straight into the woods. As he progressed he jumped from one rock to another, where this could be done, in order to leave as imperfect a trail as possible.

He felt that the shots, the cries and the war-whoops, coupled with the crashing of the tree branch, were all a part of the ruse employed by Sam Barringford to make the Indians leave their captive, and in this he was not mistaken. The Indians had gone off to a man, and now, when he felt safe for the time being, Henry was sorry that he had not stopped long enough to gain possession of his gun.

"I can't go back now," he muttered. "They'll return soon--or send one or two back to watch me." He listened for a second. "Hullo! some of 'em are back already! Now they'll make it warm for me, if they can!"

He pushed on until he heard a low but clear whistle, not unlike the sound of certain night birds of that locality. He whistled in return and soon saw the form of a man in the distance waving an arm for him to come up.