"Whar's Dave?" was the frontiersman's question, as he proceeded to reload his rifle.
"Why, didn't you see him, Sam? He and a redskin had each other by the throat and both went over into the river."
"Gollywhoppers, Henry, you don't mean it! When was thet?"
"Just before White Buffalo and his braves came up."
"And they went over right here?"
"Yes."
Barringford peered sharply down the stream for nearly half a minute, while Henry did the same.
"Don't see no sight of 'em; do you?" he said, slowly.
"No." Henry drew a long breath and shuddered. "Oh, Sam, I—I hope Dave isn't drowned!"
At this the backwoodsman shrugged his shoulders.
"So do I hope it, lad. But war is war ye must remember, an' we can't expect to kill the enemy right along an' hev nuthin' happen to us."
"Yes, but—" Henry could not finish because of the lump which came up in his throat. "I'm going to follow the river and see if I can't find out the truth," he blurted out at length.
"Sure. Come on."
