The days to follow were full of hard work for the young soldiers. They were detailed with the baggage corps, and had all they could do to bring through the many things left in their care. Although Dave did not know the truth, it was Lieutenant Naster who had much of this work piled on the young soldier's shoulders.
The sail down Lake Oneida proved a period of rest, for which both Dave and Henry were truly thankful. Both made the journey in a long and wide batteau, commonly called to-day a flat-bottom boat. It was now the end of June and the weather was hot. On one occasion the youths went in bathing, but this time nothing molested them. They also went fishing and brought out as nice a mess of fish as the clear waters of this lake afforded.
"It's an ideal spot for a home," said Dave. "Puts me in mind of the Kinotah."
"If the Kinotah is as good as this I wouldn't want anything better," replied Henry.
The batteau, of extra-large size, was filled with baggage, and besides the boys there were ten rangers on board, including old Campwell. The old man sat in the rear of the craft, eyeing the shore critically.
"My eyesight ain't none o' the best," he drawled, presently. "But onless I'm in error, I jest see a number o' Injuns behind yonder skirt o' bushes."
All looked in the direction, and presently one of the other rangers said that he, too, saw at least two Indians. They appeared to be following up the boats and at the same time did all they could to keep hidden.
"What do you make of that?" asked Henry of Barringford, who was pulling an oar beside him.
The old frontiersman shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on whether they are friends or enemies, Henry," he said. "If they are friends more'n likely they'll jine us when we reach the river."
"And if not?"