As Henry Ware ran swiftly back to his friends he met both Ross and Sol,
drawn by the shot and the shouts.
"It was you who fired?" asked Ross.
"Yes," replied Henry, "they meant to lay an ambush, but they will not
have time for it now."
The three stood for a few moments under the boughs of a tree, three
types of the daring men who guided and protected the van of the white
movement into the wilderness. They were eager, intent, listening, bent
slightly forward, their rifles lying in the hollow of their arms, ready
for instant use.
After the second long cry the savage army gave voice no more. In all the
dense thickets a deadly silence reigned, save for the trained ear. But
to the acute hearing of the three under the tree came sounds that they
knew; sounds as light as the patter of falling nuts, no more, perhaps,
than the rustle of dead leaves driven against each other by a wind; but
they knew.
"They are coming, and coming fast," said Henry. "We must join the main
force now."
"They ought to be ready. That warning of yours was enough," said Ross.
Without another word they turned again, darted among the trees, and in a
few moments reached the little white force.
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