CHAPTER XIII.
DARK.
The excitement in relation to the Frontier Angel and the lost Marian, was greatly increased by two circumstances, that occurred on the day following the return of Peterson. It had been determined, as the reader has already learned, by Dingle, that he should start to the Shawnee towns in search of tidings of Marian. In this dangerous undertaking it was agreed that Peterson should join him. The latter, having undergone considerable toil and fatigue, was compelled to remain over night by the commander, in order to be prepared for what was before him.
Shortly after the sun had risen, and while the two scouts were preparing to start upon their expedition, the sentinel on the platform of the block-house reported an Indian canoe visible, far up the Ohio. The scouts including Abbot, Mansfield, Jenkins, and several others instantly ascended the platform to view the suspicious object. It was at a great distance—so great that it resembled a duck, or something similar, slowly swimming the river. It was not crossing, as first supposed, but coming down stream, and would if it continued, pass by the settlement.
"Hello!" exclaimed Dingle, "there comes another one right behind it. What does that mean? Looks qu'ar I declar'."
Our friends continued gazing at the two canoes now visible with an intense interest. The last one had just rounded a bend in the river, and followed in the wake of the first. Whether it was in pursuit or not was impossible to tell at the great distance; but, if so, their progress was so similar, that they seemed like moving automata, connected with each other under the water, and propelled by the same power. They kept the center of the current, in a direct line with each other, and moved steadily and rapidly as could be easily seen even at the distance they were away. They did not swerve a foot from a straight line, as seemingly anxious were they to hurry forward.
"Can't you make anything of it?" asked Mansfield.
"I can see their paddles shinin' in the water," replied Dingle, "and—I—think—" he added, speaking slowly with his eyes fixed upon the canoes—"I think—yes,—I know there is only one in the first boat and there is—yes, two in the last. It is a race, sure as thunder!" he exclaimed, standing and looking around upon the others.
"Perhaps only a friendly one, between a couple of Indian canoes," suggested Abbot.
"We don't have such races on the 'Hio this time of year," replied the ranger with a quiet smile.