“How could I know there was a hole there? Let your feet drop and see if they don’t touch bottom.”
The hunter did as was requested and was surprised to find that he was again in five-foot water.
“That’s better,” he added, as he rapidly neared the flat-boat. “In a minute——”
Joe Napyank suddenly paused, at the sharp crack of several rifles upon the bank, and the whizz of the bullets in alarming proximity to his own person.
“Indians!” exclaimed McGowan, excitedly. “Quick Joe, for God’s sake; you’ll be killed!”
The hunter was fully impressed with the danger, and was making all haste toward the flat-boat. He sank down so that nothing but the upper part of his head was visible above water. The bullets rained like hail around his head but still he was unharmed.
“McGowan, can’t you give ’em a shot?” he called out.
“I can try.”
Saying which his gun was speedily raised and discharged among the shouting savages, who took no pains to conceal their bodies. The shot seemingly was a good one, for they scattered to cover like a flock of frightened partridges. During the temporary lull the hunter reached the flat-boat and with the assistance of two or three friendly hands was received on board.
The Indians disappeared with almost the suddenness of magic. Not another yell was heard, not another gun fired. Five minutes after the discharge of the first shot, a stillness deep and profound reigned over wood and river.