“Then ye may bet yer moccasins ’ut they won’t be long findin’ out. They’ll cross the river in the vicinity o’ the island, won’t they?”
“No; dey ’bove de island—heap ’bove it—half mile, guess.”
“So fur? Maybe they will miss it, then. If they does, so much better fur our friends, but, in any case, I can’t help thinkin’ we ort to be among ’em. Come, chief; let’s eat quick an’ be off.”
When the two scouts have done justice to the roast duck, they at once enter their bark canoe, which they always keep concealed at this place, and begin to guide it toward the island, that lies about half a mile distant up the river.
CHAPTER XI.
GAME AND GAME.
Remembering his guilt and natural cowardice, we may well suppose that Jim McCabe was not a little frightened when he felt a hand laid rather heavily upon his shoulder. But, when he sprung round to face his fancied challenger, and saw only the face of Nick Robbins, which had become entirely expressionless within the last few seconds, he drew a deep breath of relief, and felt his fears fading.
“What do you mean, sir, by striking me in this unwarrantable manner?” he demanded, angrily.
“Strikin’ ye!” drawled Robbins, taking a step backward and regarding the man with a show of astonishment in his actions, if not in his face. “Durn it, man, I didn’t strike ye, as I knows of. I only laid my paw on yer shoulder to ’tract yer ’tention.”
“Attract my attention, indeed!” snarled McCabe. “You chose a very mild way to do it. You will oblige me, sir, by acting a little less familiarly toward me in future.”