"He never hunts nothing but Injins, he don't," said the Long Man. "Clever of him tew help yew, anyheow. Was they going to scorch yew?"
"The fire was lit already," replied the young soldier. "Ugh! my throat is dry by even thinking of it."
"A close shave!" chuckled the Yankee. "That Skeleton Scout is a darned nice ghost, by gracious. How many Injins below, think?"
"Seventy or eighty danced around me at the stake."
"Pooty dancers?"
"Can't say I appreciated their efforts."
"No? that's queer! Let her go on, chief. The men we've got tew tackle are waiting for us in the mash (marsh). Git yure weepons ready, 'cause we are 'most thar."
Again the canoe glided softly down the stream, until it struck the marsh of which he spoke. It was a level bottom, where the soft soil had drifted down and been left, leaving scarcely room in places for a canoe to cross without grounding on the soft bottom. In this soil gigantic rushes had grown up, as we see them in our creeks when duck-hunting. These rushes rose above the water, to the hight of eight or ten feet, and stood so thickly together that, unless a man was well acquainted with them it would be impossible to force a canoe through. Of course there was a channel running through the marsh, but it was more than likely that the patrol canoes of the Indians occupied this water-course, and it would not be an easy task to get down, facing their weapons. The Dead Chief seized one of the rushes and held the canoe, and all bent forward to listen. Not a sound was heard except the sighing of the long blades as the wind rustled through them. If the Indians were watching, they knew enough to keep silent, and, for all the environed men knew, their foes might be lying within twenty feet of them.
The Dead Chief was acquainted with all the passes through the marsh, and had not for a moment thought of forcing a path through the reeds. The rustling they must of necessity make would apprise the lurking Indians of their vicinity, and put them on their guard. They were rather ready to trust to their woodcraft on shore, but they would have liked to find the exact position of the canoes of their enemies, before striking for the shore. But, though listening carefully, they could hear nothing of the red-skins, and determined to try the land.
The head of the canoe was pushed into a little channel which the Dead Chief knew ran close to the bank, at a good place to land. This was accomplished without a rustle, and Floyd leaped with the chief to the shore, closely followed by his Yankee friend. The canoe was left as of no further use to them, and pushed into the rushes out of sight. This done, the Dead Chief sat down on the bank, and drew his moccasins from his feet, and made Floyd understand by the sense of touch that he was to take off his boots, and put on these. Will hesitated to make the Indian go barefooted through the woods, but the Dead Chief took his hand and pressed it upon the sole of the bare foot. The moment his hand came in contact with the hard and callous foot, he understood that the Indian had a protection there which made a moccasin rather an object of ornament than use. He offered no further objection, but drawing off his boots, he left them on the bank, and put on the moccasins. He understood that the Indian thought the boot a poor thing for a scout to wear. The moment he was ready, the chief again took the lead, bending his body low, and keeping one hand on the ground, carefully removing every obstruction from the path which the less experienced soldier might step on.