The long sweeping oars that were hung at either end of the flat-boat were now called into requisition and applied by seemingly invisible hands. Under their influence, the huge unwieldy mass of lumber began sidling toward the bank, somewhat after the fashion of a cautious turtle, that had not made up his mind as yet, whether he was doing an exactly proper thing or not. The hunter kept pace with it, manifesting considerable anxiety, and surveying both shores, as though he were not satisfied with their appearance. One or two things had caught his eye that gave him some uneasiness, and he was rather impatient to get upon the boat. This perhaps made the movements of McGowan and his friends unnecessarily tardy.
“There! I think that will do!” exclaimed the man on the flat-boat. “Now see whether you can walk out to us.”
But Joe was already several yards out in the stream, carefully feeling his way. The water slowly rose, so that he was to his arm-pits before he had passed half the intervening distance.
“Ay g-r-a-c-i-o-us!” he shivered out, as he tediously made his way along. “This is awful cold, and is getting deeper and deeper.”
“Keep along. You’re in the deepest part,” cheered McGowan.
“I—I—don’t know about that.”
“A few more yards and you will be here.”
“I—oogh!”
The last exclamation was forcibly ejected, as he suddenly dropped out of view. Just as McGowan’s hearty laugh was ringing over the water, he shot upward again and struck out vigorously for the flat-boat.
“Confound it! Why didn’t you tell a feller?”