They marched all that day, and at dark halted to eat and rest.
Silvertip and another Indian stood watch.
Some time before morning Joe suddenly awoke. The night was dark, yet
it was lighter than when he had fallen asleep. A pale, crescent moon
shown dimly through the murky clouds. There was neither movement of
the air nor the chirp of an insect. Absolute silence prevailed.
Joe saw the Indian guard leaning against a tree, asleep. Silvertip
was gone. The captive raised his head and looked around for the
chief. There were only four Indians left, three on the ground and
one against the tree.
He saw something shining near him. He looked more closely, and made
out the object to be an eagle plume Silvertip had worn, in his
head-dress. It lay on the ground near the tree. Joe made some slight
noise which awakened the guard. The Indian never moved a muscle; but
his eyes roved everywhere. He, too, noticed the absence of the
chief.
At this moment from out of the depths of the woods came a swelling
sigh, like the moan of the night wind. It rose and died away,
leaving the silence apparently all the deeper.
A shudder ran over Joe's frame. Fascinated, he watched the guard.
The Indian uttered a low gasp; his eyes started and glared wildly;
he rose very slowly to his full height and stood waiting, listening.
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