CHAPTER XXVI.
ON THE EDGE OF THE PRAIRIE.
The night was far advanced when Fred Linden and Terry Clark reached the stream, where the former remarked that their progress was stopped. Of course he meant that they could continue if they chose to make another raft or they could wade, but they had journeyed so far since dusk, and the trouble of constructing a float was such that he thought it best to wait where they were until daylight. They were pretty well fagged out, and nothing could have been more grateful than to throw themselves on the ground and sleep for several hours.
Terry was as tired as his companion, but he stood irresolute, inclined to think it best that they should push on.
"The stream doesn't look very deep," said he, "and if ye agraas wid me that we can wade, it'll be wiser if we make tother side and then journey to the nixt straam."
"But that may be a good many miles further on."
"Thin all we have to do is to travel a good many miles," said the plucky Irish lad, sitting down to take off his shoes.
"I shall never give in to you," remarked Fred, also seating himself and beginning to remove his foot-gear.
Before any thing more could be done, however, both were startled by the discovery that some one was on the other side of the stream. First they heard the guttural exclamations which they knew were made by Indians, and then they saw one of the red men come out into full view in the moonlight.
Without a word, the boys hastily moved back under the shadow of the trees, making sure that they also placed several rods between them and the trail which they had followed to the edge of the water. Secure from observation, they fastened their eyes on the other bank, where they saw an interesting sight.