"Listen," whispered Dick, just then, as if in answer to the silent plea, "I saw something move across on the other side of the camp. A hand seemed to gently wave to me, and it was not the hand of an Indian, either. I firmly believe Mayhew, Heaven bless him, has come back, taking his life in his hand, meaning to rescue us from the Indians." FOOTNOTE: [5] See "The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri." CHAPTER XXIII THE ESCAPE "THAT is good news, Dick!" whispered Roger. "There, did you see him that time?" the other asked, as cautiously as though he believed every sleeping Indian possessed such keen hearing that a very small sound would awaken him. "Yes, and I believe it must be Mayhew. Are you starting to work your hands free, Dick? Oh! lose no time, I beg!" "It is nearly done," came in a breath from the other; for all this time Dick had been working his hands as cleverly as he could, considering the fact that they had been tied behind him as he stood against the tree. A slight movement on his part a minute later told the anxious Roger that he had finally succeeded in accomplishing his task. His hands were free, and wrestling with the knots in the thongs that bound his body to the tree. When Roger presently saw his companion move, and then slowly sink down to the ground, he held his breath, for he knew that, so far as bonds were concerned, Dick was no longer a prisoner. His next move would be to reach after that convenient knife, thrust into the tree close by. Roger turned his eyes in the other direction. His greatest fear now was that one of the sleeping braves might wake up, and spoil all their plans. When he saw no sign of such a thing his heart beat a little less tumultuously, and he breathed freely once more. But it was a period of suspense Roger would never forget. Even the slight sound made by a passing breeze struck a note of deadly fear in the heart of the waiting lad; it seemed to be a crash of thunder that would surely arouse the whole camp. Yet no one so much as stirred. Dick had obtained the knife, it seemed. Roger could feel him at work. How it thrilled him to know that those painful bonds were about to fall away, leaving him free to stretch his arms, and his lower limbs, so dreadfully cramped during the hours that had passed since they tied him there. Dick, crouching behind the tree, had to work in the dark, and mostly through instinct, his sense of touch taking the place of sight. He was succeeding, at any rate, which must be reckoned the main thing. Roger knew when the stout deerskin rope that kept him rigid against the tree had been severed, for a hand instantly steadied him, lest he fall over. There now remained only the bonds about his wrists, and they were apt to prove the most troublesome of all. What if the steel blade did give him several scratches and slight cuts? He could stand almost anything while hope of liberty swelled within him.