“Get in and be quick about it,” returned his cousin.
They entered the craft and shoved out into the stream. The rain had ceased, but the mist was so thick they could scarcely see two yards in any direction. Catching up the paddles, they guided the canoe down the watercourse as best they could. At first they caught a faint glimpse of the Indians’ torch, but this was quickly swallowed up by the mist and darkness.
“I reckon we are out of it,” said Dave, after quarter of an hour had passed. “And I am glad of it.” He heaved a long sigh of relief.
“You are not half as glad as I am,” answered his cousin. “I felt pretty blue when they had me tied to the tree, I can tell you! How ever did you locate me?”
“It’s a long story,” answered Dave, and then told of his meeting with the Indian who could speak English, and of what had happened afterward.
“We can certainly count ourselves more than lucky,” said Henry. “In nine cases out of ten those redskins would have killed us on the spot, and scalped us in the bargain. They are terribly bitter because Pontiac’s last conspiracy failed.”
“I think I know why they let you live, Henry. They wanted to learn how matters stood at the fort. They’d make you tell everything, even if they had to torture you into doing it.”
“I reckon you are right on that point.”
Feeling themselves safe for the time being, the two young hunters stopped paddling and tried to gaze around them. Nothing could be seen but the mist and water, the latter rushing along with increased swiftness.
“Did they have another canoe?” asked Henry, presently.