"More'n likely, and if it's an English vessel we are in luck."
They watched the lights with interest, and presently saw them go out. Then a small schooner loomed up in the distance. Every sail was set and the craft was headed directly for the mouth of the Detroit River.
"She flies the flag of England!" cried Dave, as the schooner drew closer. He set up a loud shout: "Hullo! Ship ahoy! On board the schooner!"
The cry was heard, and soon the craft was headed directly for the canoe. The mainsail was dropped and other sails followed, and a rope was thrown to those in the smaller craft.
"Where are you from?" questioned the master of the schooner, who wore the uniform of an English naval lieutenant.
"We came from Fort Cumberland," answered Dave.
"Fort Cumberland! Certainly you didn't come all the way in that canoe?" And the lieutenant smiled broadly.
"Hardly, as a canoe makes poor traveling on land," replied Sam Barringford. "But we do come from Fort Cumberland, and we are bound for Detroit."
"It's a long journey to make—especially in such times as these," and the lieutenant looked significantly at the pair before him. "Did you meet any hostile Indians?"
"Reckon as how we'd better tell our little tale," said Barringford, and proceeded to do so. Then Dave also spoke of the journey, the officer listening closely to all that was said.