The two frontiersmen who had come up with Mr. Morris picked the senseless form up and hurried to the camp with it, where they did what they could for the sufferer. In the meantime Joseph Morris did a little scouting around, but could see nothing more of the Indians. “The alarm has frightened them off for the time being,” said Mr. Morris. “They may be too cowardly to attack us while we are wide-awake and on the watch.” Fortunately for the whites, the night proved to be an exceptionally clear one, with the stars glittering in the heavens like so many diamonds. It was quiet, saving for the far-away howls of some wolves and the occasional bark of a fox or hoot of an owl. But the frontiersmen kept on guard, not knowing what each succeeding minute might bring forth. The man who had been brought in still lay unconscious and breathing heavily. He was a handsome individual, all of forty years of age, and evidently of good breeding. His face was pale, as if he had suffered much during his captivity among the Indians. “I wish he was well enough to tell his tale,” said Henry. “He might relate something to our advantage.” As the hours slipped by all the Morrises became anxious over the prolonged absence of Sam Barringford. At the most they had not expected the old frontiersman to remain away later than midnight. “Perhaps something has happened to him,” said Henry. “Those Indians are mighty slick.” “Oh, don’t say that!” cried Dave. “Sam knew exactly what he was doing, and he ought to be able to take care of himself.” “He may have walked into some trap. You must remember, Dave, that some of the redskins out here are slyer than those in the East. They are regular foxes on the warpath.” Slowly the night wore away, until a glow in the east announced the coming of another day. The man who had been brought in was now conscious, but so weak he could scarcely speak. He wanted to tell them something, but could not, and sank back again utterly exhausted. “Take it easy,” said Joseph Morris, kindly. “We will do what we can for you.” And at this, the man tried to smile, but it was a dismal failure. “Tell me one thing,” said Dave, who had come up a moment before. “Did you meet another white man in the woods—a frontiersman, one of our men?” At this the man shook his head. “Nobody—on—only Indians!” he gasped. “Then something has certainly happened to Sam,” said Dave, and gave a sigh that came from the very bottom of his young heart. CHAPTER XXIV SNOWBOUND ON THE TRAIL Another council of war was held, and two of the frontiersmen went scouting around once more. Not a sign was to be seen of the Indians, and at last Joseph Morris concluded to advance as before, but with everybody on the alert. “If Sam comes back to this point he will know that we have gone on and can follow us up,” said the planter.