Now was heard a dead sound like the distant heave of the stormy sea, growing stronger and nearer each second, and at intervals that wild, unearthly shriek reverberated through the forest arches with a horrid power.
Matters were now assuming such an inexplicable form I began to fear I was losing my senses. I looked around upon the faces of others; but no—it was all a terrible reality.
“Look!” spoke Imogene, in a husky whisper, pointing down the river.
I did look and what was seen? There, just rounding the curve of the Yellowstone below us, burst the broad flaming hull of a steamboat.
For a moment I could scarce believe my senses. Nat was the first to recover himself.
“I knowed what it was all the time, by gracious! Hilloa, you!”
The latter exclamation was addressed in vociferous tones to the steamboat; and, fearing lest he might still escape notice, he sprang into the water and waved his plumes excitedly over his head, yelling at the top of his voice all the time. We had been seen, however, and heeded by those on the boat. A small bell tinkled, and instantly the huge wheel of the steamer reversed, plowing the water into foamy waves, and quickly bringing it to a stand still. The captain then stepped from his wheelhouse and hailed us:
“What’s wanted?”
“Supper and lodging,” answered Nat.
“Who are you?”