So he rushed into the water and seized the trunk of a dead tree floating near, and was soon astride it drifting toward the other shore.
Others followed his example, and soon the river was full of warriors, each trying to mount a log and sail across the lake. Some of the limbs, however, were too small to bear their weight, and had to be abandoned. Others were of awkward shape and would not remain long in the same position, and so could not be controlled. Several, however, mounted successfully, and expected soon to reach the opposite shore. Pounder was in the lead, and beckoned the rest to follow him.
But there were not logs enough to supply all, so that not many followed him, and some began to disparage this means of crossing.
“Come on,” cried Pounder. “If you are afraid of the water, how do you expect to meet the enemy?”
“Come back,” replied Koree, “till we can all provide ourselves with logs, or else find other means of crossing.”
POUNDER’S MISHAP.
“I will not come back,” he said; “you are cowards, and when I get on the other side I will”—