"I was out scouting it, and was cotched by the Shawnees, and have just got away from them. For God's sake, come and take me off, for they're after me."
"For God's sake come and take me off, for they are after me."
"Jump into the river and swim out to us."
"My hurt is too bad; I've got a bullet clean through my thigh, and can just drag the leg after the other. Yonder is the smoke of their wigwams up on the hill and they ain't fur off. My God! don't leave a white man thus! Heaven would curse you if you did."
Our friends looked in the direction he indicated, and could faintly discern in the gathering gloom a thin wreath of smoke rising from the trees. The suffering man, as if aware of their thoughts, called out:
"That is whar' they are, and their runners are out after me. May God forever curse you, if you leave me here."
"What do yer think?" asked the stranger, turning round with an air of perplexity to the others. "I believe that man ain't a decoy, not at all; and ef he isn't, we orter not leave him there to be cooked by the red devils. Still, I shouldn't say nothing, but leave it with you."
"It will never do to run the boat ashore," said several of the men, firmly.
"Oh, I didn't mean that. In course, it would be all-fired foolish to do that ar' thing. But I've been thinking"—and the man dropped his eyes, as if in great perplexity—"that we orter help that man off. To do sich a thing we ain't compelled by any duty to expose ourselves to any danger. What is your views, friends?"