With a sweep of the broad paddle, Lark brought the canoe sideways to shore. Boone and Kenton at once gained the bank. Lark followed slowly.
On the bank Lark halted. In his hand he held the “painter” of the canoe, a sprig of grapevine.
A moment he looked at the trail bark and then deliberately drove his foot through the bottom and cast it adrift to the mercy of the swollen waters.
Eagerly, like living things, the sullen waves leaped over and around the canoe as it sunk from mortal sight in their chill embraces.
“Jerusalem! how on yearth are we a-goin’ to git across the drink ag’in?” muttered Boone, in dismay.
Kenton did not reply, for he was watching Lark eagerly.
The stalwart borderer, who was acting so strangely, watched the canoe until the dark waters hid it from his sight. Then, without paying any more attention to the two who stood by his side on the bank, than if they had been sticks or stones, he plunged into the thicket that fringed the river’s side.
Utterly dumbfounded at his unaccountable actions, Boone and Kenton again followed on his track.
This time, however, Lark did not proceed carelessly and without caution, as before, but, on the contrary, crept through the tangled underwood with all the care of a wild beast stealing upon its prey.
The two woodmen had but little difficulty in following their strange companion.