Pat Mulroony squinted one eye up to the sky, as if he was looking at the face of a clock, and answered:
"It lacks an hour or so yet of noon. Are ye cravin' something to ate?"
"O ginger, no! S'pose we set out upon our journey, as I don't exactly see how we're goin' to gain anything by standing here."
"Who laids the way?"
"I'll follow you, as you know more of the woods than I do."
Pat Mulroony struck out toward the Ohio River, closely followed by Hezekiah Smith. Each took long, regular strides, frequently snapping the twigs beneath their feet in spite of the care and caution exercised by each. They were two noticeable personages as they thus pressed forward, each with a long, beautiful rifle slung over his shoulder, and each attired in a demi-savage dress. The New Englander being some five or six inches the taller, was constantly peering over the shoulders of his leader, his curiosity being almost sufficient several times to make him take the lead himself.
They had walked some distance, when Hezekiah caught the shimmer of water through the trees, and knew they were approaching the Ohio. Moving several yards further, they were almost upon the bank, when Pat Mulroony fell flat upon his face as suddenly as if his feet had been tripped from beneath, and Smith, perfectly dum-founded at this curious movement, gazed bewildered at him for a second. Then thinking he had fallen and injured himself, he stooped to assist him to his feet. Motioning him off, Pat spoke rapidly in a ghostly whisper:
"Drop down on yer face! hide quick! down wid ye! quick! quick! the devil himself is coming down the river."
This overwhelming intelligence caused Hezekiah also to "come down," as suddenly as the Irishman, and for a moment nothing but the deep breathing of each could have been heard. But at the end of that time, the curiosity of Smith began to show itself.
"What does he look like, Pat?"