"You're correct; it was growing dark, and, though I hunted powerful lively for the varmint, I didn't get the first show for drawin' a bead on him."
"You said somethin' about another canoe of your'n that you hed among the bushes some time ago, near where we are now."
"I found the spot, but didn't find no canoe; the varmints had been ahead of me; I shouldn't wonder, now, if the boat which I seed comin' over from the Ohio side was the identical craft that I was looking for."
Kenton indulged in a forceful exclamation, for the occasion was one of the rare ones in which his chagrin and self disgust became intolerable. Nevertheless, he was very much of a philosopher, and soon talked with all his self-possession, betraying a hopeful vein in his composition which did much to sustain him in the great trials to which he was subjected in later years.
"I counted on two boats," he added, "and did git one; now, I haven't got any. But it don't do any good to kick."
"No," assented his companion; "we must make the best of it."
"Though there doesn't seem to be any 'best' about the bus'ness. Haven't heard anything of Boone since I left you?"
"Not a word."
"A good deal depends on what he says. He went more among the varmints than I did, though I found 'em plenty 'nough—confound 'em! But Boone is wiser than me. I don't think the varmints hate him quite as bad, and that gives him a better show for learning what they're up to."
"The Ingins must have one or two canoes," suggested Hastings, hinting at a scheme that had assumed form in his mind.