Fritz started forward at a run.
"That is no Indian voice," he exclaimed; "it is one of our men calling for aid.

He has heard our voices." Followed by the rest of the party, Fritz ran forward, and soon came out into a more open glade, commanded by the ridge where he had observed the signs of Indian occupation.

As he did so he uttered a startled exclamation, which was repeated in all kinds of keys by those who came after.

For in this glade lay the bodies of full fifty of their soldiers, for the most part stripped and scalped; and the place was so trodden and bloodstained as to show plainly that it had been the scene of a bloody conflict.
Crawling forth from a little sheltered gorge was a wan, dishevelled figure, bloodstained and ghastly.

And Fritz, springing forward, caught the lad in his strong arms, whilst he fell to feeble sobbing in the plenitude of his thankfulness and relief.
When he was fed and heartened up he had a terrible tale to tell.
It had been as Fritz thought.