On they went, traveling as fast as their somewhat tired limbs permitted. There was another rise to cross, beyond which was a watercourse leading down to the rear of their homestead.
"I think I know where there is a rough raft to be found," said Henry. "And if I can find it, we can place the deer on that and tow them home. We may get wet, but it will be easy work and we can make quicker time than over the ground."
"Right you are, Henry, and remember, water leaves no trail," responded Dave.
They were soon at the side of the stream, which at this point was several feet deep and five to ten yards wide. The banks were thickly overhung with bushes, now, however, bare of leaves. At one spot was an inlet and here Henry pointed out the raft he had mentioned, a crude affair of four short logs lashed together with willow withes.
"We can pull that with ease," said Dave, as he surveyed the affair. "Come, let us dump the deer aboard at once. We can wade along the bank and——."
He broke off short and clutched his cousin's arm. His glance had strayed up the stream to a bend several rods away and there he had seen the prow of an Indian canoe and the headgear of several painted warriors.
"By ginger! More Indians!" ejaculated Henry, and both dropped flat on top of their dead game. "How many did you see, Dave?"
"Three or four,—and there are several more!"
"Yes, and they are in their war-paint! Dave, do you know what I think?"
"That they are on the war-path? Oh, Henry, if that is so——." Dave did not finish, but looked anxiously at his cousin.