If there were any lingering doubts in the minds of the whites, they were instantly set at rest by seeing the canoe put out from the shore, and head across toward the Kentucky bank. The tufted heads of three Indians were visible, and their paddles flashed brightly in the sunlight, as the frail vessel shot swiftly over the surface of the water.
"I didn't mane to alarm yees, but maning no offince to the iligant lady present, might I vinture to suggest in the mildest terms possible, there'd bist be none but men on deck jist now."
"He is right," said Waring, in a lower tone to our heroine, "it is best that you go below."
"I will do so, if you think I should," she replied, suiting her action to her word. "Do you wish father to come up?"
"There is no need of it."
The girl closed the door, and Waring turned toward his friends.
By this time the canoe had nearly crossed the stream. A few moments later, it glided under the Kentucky banks, and three Indians sprang out.
It was with peculiar emotions that the inmates of the flat- boat gradually came opposite this canoe. They had just seen three of their deadly enemies withdraw under the protection of the shrubbery and undergrowth of the shore, and they had every reason to believe that there were others in the vicinity.
"It can't be that they are friendly," suggested Waring, who was all but certain that such could not be the case.
"Friendly divils!" repeated Pat Mulroony. "Every mother's son of 'em is in the war paint, and they'd sooner scalp all of us, not barring the lady—God bless her. Talk of friendly Injins in this part of the wurruld!"