"Perhaps you are right, Henry," returned his uncle. And then he gave a long sigh, and said no more.
About half the straight stretch of the stream had been covered, when one of the wounded hunters, sitting near the front of the ice-boat, called James Morris's attention to some smoke that was curling upward from the shore ahead.
"There's a camp there," said the hunter. "Perhaps it is friends, and perhaps it ain't."
They watched the vicinity of the smoke with close attention, and were almost opposite the spot when they saw two Indians come out of the thickets and gaze up and down the Ohio.
"Redskins!" ejaculated Henry, and reached for his gun, which was lying on the pile of game.
As soon as the Indians saw the ice-boat they set up a shout, and a minute later four other warriors put in an appearance. Then one fired a shot, and all disappeared as if by magic.
"I don't like that," said James Morris.
"Shall we go after them?" asked Henry.
"No, indeed! They are in the thickets and have the advantage of us. We had better keep to our course."
"But the others of our party——"