“You going to shoot them?” asked Nat, anxiously.
“Can’t tell yit. Jest see that yer irons is ready, and we’ll wait till they get out yer. Don’t make no noise till I give the motion.”
The trapper stole a yard or two in front of us, where he sank softly down upon his face until only his head was visible. Nat fingered his gun nervously beside me, while I, not a whit less agitated, waited for the canoe to appear through the interstices of the bushes in front.
In a moment, I heard the faint ripple of an oar, and saw the trapper slowly raising his head and bringing his rifle in front of him. He raised his hand warningly for us to remain quiet until the moment should arrive. I heard the click of my companion’s gun, as he raised the hammer, and admonished him to be careful.
Suddenly, I saw the red head-dress of one of the savages glittering through the bushes, and, before I could speak, came an explosion beside me like the crash of a thunderbolt. Almost simultaneously, the herculean frame of the trapper bounded over me, and he exclaimed:
“Who fired that? I’m shot.”
Nat and I sprang to our feet and dashed after him; but as I turned, though bewildered with excitement, I looked at the spot where the canoe was seen. It was gone!
We dashed up the bank, and in a moment reached Biddon. The excitement had completely gone, and he stood coolly feeling his ear.
“Was that your gun, Jarsey?” he asked.
“No, sir; mine is still loaded.”