Leslie again dipped his oars, and the boat shot forward in silence. Nothing but the suppressed dip of the slender ashen blades, or the dull sighing of the wind through the tree-tops, broke the silence of the great solitude. Suddenly, as Leslie bent forward and gazed into the hunter's face, he saw him start and gaze anxiously at the right shore, some distance ahead.
"What's the matter?" asked Leslie.
"Just wait a minute," returned the hunter, rising and gazing in the same direction. "Stop the boat. Back water!" he added, in a hurried tone.
Leslie did as he was bidden, and again spoke:
"What is it, Kent?"
"Do you see them bushes hangin' a little further out in the stream than the others?"
"Yes; what of them?"
"Watch them a minute. There—look quick!" said Kent.
"I can see a fluttering among the branches, as if a bird had flown from it," answered Leslie.
"Wal, them birds is Indians, that's all," remarked the hunter, dropping composedly back into the boat. "Go ahead!"