Tom, as we know, went to the look-out at the beginning of the fight, and he remained there to the end in the hope that the fortune of battle might possibly bring the whites within call, and thus afford the little refugee band a chance of escape.

No such chance came, however, and sadly enough the two boys, for Joe was also in the look-out, watched the passage of the last of Dale's men across the stream, half a mile below.
"Mas' Tom," said Joe, "dem folks gwine right straight to de fort." "Yes, of course," said Tom.

"What of it ?" "Nothin', only I wish I could go wid 'em, and tell 'em Mas' Sam's here sick." "So do I, Joe, but we can't go with them, and it's no use wishing." "I reckon 'tain't no use, but I can't help wishin' for all dat.

When folk's got der own way dey don't wish for it.

It's when you can't git your way dat you wish, ain't it ?" Tom was forced to admit that Joe was right, and that in wishing to be with the retreating party he was not altogether unreasonable.
The two boys sat there, looking and longing.