"My ankle—I have twisted it badly!"
"Hush! they will hear!" he answered, and seeing she could go no further, he caught her in his youthful arms and carried her forward. In the midst of a clump of bushes he laid her down and threw himself flat beside her, at the same time holding some brushwood down over them.
By this time the glimmer of light had come closer. It was a torch, held in the hands of a tall Indian, who was following up the trail of the whites with great care. The Indian had with him six companions, all armed with either guns or bows and arrows, and each hideous in his war-paint.
Hardly daring to breathe, Henry awaited their close approach, his left hand holding down the bushes and his right on his gun. Soon the warriors were at the spot where Mrs. Risley had fainted. Here they came to a halt and began to talk in low tones.
It was a moment of intense anxiety, and it must be confessed that Henry's heart almost stopped beating. The warrior with the torch held the light aloft, and all in the party gazed around with eyes as piercing as those of some wild beasts.
In a moment more something happened which changed the tables of fortune. Unable to bear the pain of her twisted ankle, Mrs. Risley drew in a
