“Ha! Now we got um!” Toma tore the gag from his mouth, leaned up and picked up the revolver Dick had thrown away. In a trice, then, Toma had lashed the scar-faced Indian to his chair.
Dick already was expecting the return of the Indian’s companion. With the Indian secured, both Toma and he turned their attention to the door. With bated breath they waited and listened for approaching footfalls.
Toma and Dick no longer could hear Sandy hallooing, and Dick judged that his chum was safely in hiding. Yet, as they waited, guns trained on the door, a rifle shot shattered the silence. It came from the direction taken by the man who had gone to investigate the calls for help. Dick’s face paled. What did it mean? Had poor Sandy fallen? Had the man found him?
“I’m going out,” Dick said tensely to Toma a moment later.
Whatever Toma’s reply was Dick did not hear it, for with an impatient leap he flung open the door and disappeared. Toma remained behind, not sure that his young white friend’s move had been wise, yet believing he could do more to help if he stayed in the cabin.
When Dick left the cabin he made straight for the point from which he thought the rifle shot had come. It was growing lighter. In the east a faint gray fan of light showed over the forest—dawn. He ran on for a little way, then he came upon tracks. Pursuing these at a run, he came in sight of the man who had left the cabin an hour before. The meeting was a surprise for both.
Dick dodged behind a tree as the other fired from his hip. The ball whizzed harmlessly over Dick’s head, and he shot hastily. His shot also went wild, but the other took to his heels. Dick did not pursue him, but began calling for Sandy. Presently he was rewarded by a distant shout and in a few minutes the chums were reunited.
“Did he shoot at you?” Dick queried anxiously.
“No, I don’t know what he shot at. Maybe he thought it was me,” Sandy replied. “I’m half frozen. Gosh, it seemed hours out here.”
“Let’s hurry back to the cabin,” Dick hastened. “Toma is there, and we’ve captured the scar faced Indian.”
Sandy was too cold to care how many Indians had been captured, and he hobbled along after Dick like a stiff, old man.
“I hope Toma is all right,” Dick said anxiously as they neared the cabin.