"This isn't so nice," remarked Dave, after slipping down in a pool of water. "These wet rocks are tremendously slippery."
"Never mind, ye ain't swallerin' no dust," answered Barringford, and then both laughed at the old frontiersman's little joke.
Beyond the shadows, the river ran swiftly, and on the next day they had all they could do to keep the canoe to its course and prevent the craft from striking the rocks which now and then loomed up before them.
"This is where we gain time," said Dave. "It beats walking and horseback riding, too."
"Nothin' better nor canoein', when the river is proper," answered Barringford.
During the day they sighted large quantities of water fowls, and each brought down some with the bow and arrows. They proved to be good eating, and gave them a variety in their meals.
The first real alarm came two days later, just as they were on the point of leaving the river and abandoning the canoe. They were now about one day's journey from the southern shore of Lake Erie. The river was nothing but a series of rapids, so to paddle further became impossible. The rocks in that vicinity rendered it difficult to carry the canoe, and the craft was scarcely worth taking, for it had hit several times during the journey and sprung half a dozen leaks.
The two travelers had just passed out of sight of the river when, without warning, they came upon half a dozen Indians, sitting in a small open space, conversing earnestly.
"Injuns!" muttered Sam Barringford, and pulled Dave out of sight. "I vow, but we came near to walkin' right on 'em!"
"That's what we did," answered the youth. "They haven't seen us, though, so we are safe."