"Somebody is coming!" cried Joe at last, and both of the boys stood on the defensive, rifles in hand. The party came closer and closer, and at last they made out the form of the old scout. He was riding at the top of his speed.
"Quick! follow me!" he exclaimed, as he dashed up. "There is not a moment to lose!"
The boys needed no second bidding, and in a trice they were in the saddle once more and riding after old Benson, who now took to another trail leading somewhat to the south of that formerly pursued.
"You saw the Indians?" questioned Joe, as they dashed on.
"I did. White Ox is ahead, with sixty or seventy of his best warriors. From what I could learn he and Lieutenant Carrol have had a fight, and half a dozen of the soldiers were either killed or wounded. Now White Ox is marching for the fort."
"To attack it?"
"I can't say about that, but I think he is going to hide in the vicinity, to wait for the coming of the desperadoes."
"And what of my brother?" questioned Joe anxiously. "Did he get through all right?"
"Nothing was said about the captain, lad. I suppose he got through."
