There was a chance of his being rescued by his party, but this chance was diminished by the decision of his Indian captors to break camp, and proceed in a northerly direction, while the course of the emigrant⁴ train was, of course, westward⁵. Little time was wasted. The Indians mounted their horses, Tom being put on the horse of the fallen brave. The leader put himself at the head, and Tom was placed in the center, surrounded by Indians. It was evident that they were not willing to trust him yet. They meant to afford him no chance of escape.

 

As the only one of the band with whom Tom could converse⁶ was the interpreter, who rode at the head with the chief, he rode in silence. The Indians on either side of him never turned their heads toward him, but, grave and impassive, rode on, looking straight before them.

 

"This is easier than walking," thought Tom; "but I would a hundred times rather[242] walk with Scott, or Miles, than ride in my present company."

 

They rode for three hours, and then dismounted for the midday rest.

 

Nothing had been seen or heard of his old friends, and that made Tom anxious and thoughtful.

 

"They have gone on without me, leaving me to my fate," he said to himself, and the reflection gave him a pang⁷. He had been on such pleasant and friendly terms with the whole party, that this cold desertion—as it appeared—wounded him. The young are more sensitive in such cases than their elders. As we grow older we cease to expect too much of those whose interests differ from our own.

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