“Those Indians that went by didn’t keep very shady, Harry.”
“That is true, Joe,—which proves that they didn’t belong to the party that we have been fighting. It’s more than likely they have met some of the others since passing here, and now they are on guard like ourselves.”
It was decided that the boys should take turns at picket duty, as Harry called it, for it was not deemed wise for all to sleep at once.
The two boys drew straws as to which should keep awake the first half of the night, and it fell to Harry’s lot. Worn out, Joe turned in immediately, if not to sleep at least to rest, and Mrs. Parsons and Harmony soon followed his example. But, though their minds were in sore distress, abused Nature soon claimed her own, and all slept the sleep of the exhausted.
To keep his own eyes open Harry moved around, up and down the rocks, and then along a stretch of the river bank which was comparatively free from brushwood and trees.
It was a lonely vigil, and more than once the youth’s eyes closed in spite of himself. To keep himself awake he decided to bathe his head and arms.
He was engaged in this agreeable occupation when something floating on the surface of the river attracted his attention. At first he could not distinguish what it was, but at last made it out to be a small tree, or large tree branch. On the top rested a dark object that looked like the huddled form of a man.
“Hullo, here is something new!” he thought. “If that is a man is it a white person or an Indian?”
As the object came nearer he strained his eyes to see more clearly. As he did this, the man on the driftwood raised himself slightly and gave a moan.
“A white man, and he is likely wounded,” said the young pioneer to himself, and without hesitation he ran for one of the canoes, launched it, and soon had the sufferer ashore.