For a moment he took his eyes from the dark form behind him; when he looked again, the form was gone. Naught before him broke the denseness of the gloom.
The hunter rubbed his eyes in wonder.
“Jerusalem!” he muttered, “is it a spook after all?” The hair upon his head rose in fright as the thought crossed his mind.
Then Boone proceeded cautiously onward.
A few paces and he stood upon the river’s bank. The waters of the stream, now low—it was in the summer-time—were some feet below the surface of the bank. One walking by the side of the water would be concealed from the view of any one on the level plain above, by the overhanging bank.
Here was an easy solution to the mystery of the strange disappearance of Boone’s silent friend. He had stepped from the level down the slope to the side of the stream, and thus hid by the bank had seemed to disappear.
But Boone was loth to adopt this explanation of the riddle; besides, as he stepped down the bank to the water’s edge, he could not distinguish the dark form of the stranger anywhere.
“It was a spook, sure,” muttered Boone; “but, I may as well be making tracks for the settlement.”
Concealed by the bank, Boone proceeded onward until his progress was stopped by an unexpected obstacle.
He had come to the watering-place for the Indian horses. A road had been cut through the bank to the water, and in the road sat a brawny Shawnee warrior.