A few more fagots were forthwith heaped upon the fire, and then we lay down for the night’s rest.
My companion had lain but a minute, when he suddenly sprang to his feet, and exclaimed:
“Hurrah for Oregon!”
“Be careful,” I admonished; “your indiscretion may be fatal. That wall of darkness across the river looks gloomy and threatening enough to me.”
“It does—hello! I’m shot—no, I ain’t, neither.”
That instant the report of a rifle burst from the other bank, and the bullet whizzed within an inch of my companion’s face.
“Heavens! are we attacked!” I ejaculated, starting back from the fire.
“I believe so,” replied Nat, cowering behind me.
We listened silently and fearfully, but heard no more. The fire smoldered to embers, the river grew darker, and the night, moonless and cold, settled upon us. But no sleep visited my eyelids that night. Till the gray dawn of morning I listened, but heard no more.