“Suppose you go down stream about a hundred yards near the bend yonder,” I proposed to Nat.
“Guess I will!” he exclaimed, as he rose to go.
“Wait a moment,” said I, detaining him. “Let me admonish you to exercise no ordinary caution, Nat, for you have seen enough to convince you that your own safety depends upon it. Remember that a word or false movement, however slight, may defeat our plans. Look out for danger to yourself, and not let your curiosity be the means of your destruction. Be very careful.”
I know not what led me to thus warn him; but at the moment he arose to go, an unaccountable sense of impending danger came over me. It was not so much for me as for him I spoke thus. He promised to heed my words and departed.
As soon as he had disappeared, I cast another look up stream, but still there were no signs of the expected canoe, and a sudden apprehension that I should not see it again came over me. There was, in fact; as much reason not to expect it as to anticipate its coming, and as I looked up at the sun and saw that it was already beyond the hour, I was half-tempted to turn back. While I was debating, I naturally looked up the river, and there, just rounding the bend where the canoe had first come into view before,—and there it was coming! Quivering with agitation, I sank upon the ground, and gave a low whistle as a signal to Nat. He returned it, as an evidence of his watchfulness.
I saw from that point where I was seated, the view would be most obstructed when the canoe was nearest. Accordingly, I crept cautiously and quickly nearer the water’s edge. This time, however, I slightly varied my course, and concealed myself behind the trunk of a fallen tree. This was within a yard of the water, and afforded complete concealment. I noticed the log was rotten and apparently hollow.
Here I lay, and intently listened and watched. A few moments and an almost inaudible ripple was heard, and the canoe was opposite. I exercised the most extreme caution, and was fortunate enough to obtain a perfect view of each of the occupants. They were the same—the dark, malignant faces of the savages, and the fair features of the captive. She sat in the stern, her hand resting gently upon a guiding oar, and her gaze fixed upon the stream in front. The canoe floated with the current, and not a paddle was stirred, nor the least motion made by the beings before me. The headdress of the captive was, as mentioned before, eagle feathers and porcupine quills, while the dark, waving masses of hair hung low upon the shoulders, contrasting with the whiteness of the face. A heavy crimson shawl enveloped the form, as when first seen. The features were regular, and, perhaps, in my state of feeling, their beauty was considerably enhanced; but the thought came upon me that if there were anything supernatural in my experience, it was in seeing such wonderful beauty as was now before me.
Unconsciously I forgot myself as the canoe was gliding past, and before I was aware, it was hid from view by intervening obstacles. I withdrew hastily, intending to hurry farther down, where the view would be more complete. I had taken but a step or two when Nat’s rifle was discharged, and I heard distinctly a muffled sound of his voice. Wild with agitation, I dashed to the spot where I supposed him to be. The view of the river at this point was clear, and I turned to look at the canoe. It had vanished!
I looked around for Nat, but he too, was gone. I called him, and once thought I heard a faint answer. But it was not repeated, and I could not tell its direction. I reached the ground, and beheld the tracks of others beside his own. I awaited until near night, but Nathan Todd was never to return.