“Perhaps they are spies. We had better be on guard and keep out of sight.”
“But I think we ought to watch them.”
“Certainty; we can do it from behind yonder brushwood.”
It took but a minute to pick up their outfits and their catches, and with these they slipped behind the thicket Henry had mentioned. Here they kept themselves well hidden, each with his firearm in hand, ready for use should any shooting be required.
The canoe came closer slowly, and presently they made out that it contained two red men, both in warpaint and sporting the colors and feathers of the Delawares.
“If they are Delawares they should be friendly,” whispered Dave.
“Don’t be too sure. Remember, White Buffalo said that even his tribe was divided, the old chiefs standing up for the French and the young chiefs swearing by Washington and Sir William.”
“One of the redskins has raised himself and he is trying to paddle,” went on Dave, after a spell of silence. “He has got a bandage around his left forearm, as if he was wounded. See, he is talking to his companion, but the other fellow won’t budge. Do you know what I think? I think they are both badly wounded.”
“Even so, they may be enemies,” returned Henry, who had learned by bitter experience not to trust anybody until he proved himself a friend.
Gradually the canoe came up to the shore and they could see the faces of the occupants plainly. That they were suffering was evident, for the man at the bottom of the canoe lay in a pool of half-dried blood.