The fording spot was fully a hundred feet wide, for the water was only shallow because the stream was spread out. Sam Barringford had reached the middle when he came to a sudden halt.
“Look thar!” he cried, and pointed down the stream a distance of a dozen rods. Dave gazed in the direction and beheld several deer standing by the river side, under the drooping branches of a tree. They had come up in haste, and now, catching sight of our friends, hardly knew how to turn.
“They are pretty bold,” cried Dave. “Shall I take a shot at them?”
“No,—something has driven ’em out of the wood,” answered Sam Barringford. “Perhaps—— They are coming this way!”
The old hunter spoke the truth—the deer, evidently more frightened than ever, were turning up the stream. Soon some were in the water, struggling madly to reach the opposite shore. One sped up so far before turning into the stream that it came within a couple of rods of Dave. The lad could not resist the temptation to fire and did so, killing the deer instantly with a ball through the neck.
The shot was still ringing through the air, when two other shots came from down the stream, along with the flight of several arrows. A number of Indian hunters had burst into view. At first their gaze was set upon the quarry, but soon one saw the whites and set up a cry of warning.
“We had better go back, Dave, and be quick about it!” came from Barringford, in a low but earnest voice. “If these redskins are friendly thet’s one thing, but if they ain’t, it’s quite another.”
The youth thought the advice good, for the Indians were more savage and warlike in appearance than any he had ever before seen. Only two had guns, the others were supplied with nothing better than bows and arrows.
The shots and the rushing of the deer into the water, frightened the pack horses, and when Dave and Barringford attempted to turn back they found they had their hands full. One of the pack horses balked and in plunging around bumped up against the steed Dave was riding. This knocked the youth’s horse from the rocks, and in a twinkling Dave found himself and his steed floating down the current of the stream.
“Come back here!” roared Barringford. “Turn to the shore!” And then he said no more, having his hands full with the pack horses and his own animal. One of the pack horses began to kick and did not stop until the old hunter struck him a heavy blow with his gun stock. Then the steed made a plunge for the bank it had left but a few minutes before, and Barringford and the other two horses followed. The leading horse did not stop at the bank but took to the back trail, and thinking that Dave had followed his advice and was close behind, the old hunter started to stop the runaway.