"Here we are," said the hunter, coming to a halt. Leland gazed ahead, and saw a broad sheet of water which he knew must be the Ohio.
"And now," added Kent, "we've got to hunt up Leslie. He can't be far off, and I'm in hopes we'll stumble upon him afore day. Just squat and make yourself miserable while I take a run up and down the bank."
Leland obeyed him, and in a moment was left alone, shivering in the chilly night-air, and feeling miserable indeed in his lonely situation. But he was not disposed to murmur; he had escaped death—that was enough.
In the course of an hour Kent returned with the information that he had found the boat about half a mile up, but that Leslie was not in it. Both started, and, after stumbling over bushes loaded with water, and sinking into the miry shore, and wading in the river by turns, they came upon it, pulled high up on the bank. It was becoming lighter every moment, and as Kent knew that as soon as possible their trail would be followed, he was unwilling to brook the slightest delay.
"As soon as one is out the scrape another gets in. Here you have got clear, and now he must go and make a fool of himself. If he's got taken, that's the meanest trick yet."
"Perhaps he is not far off," said Leland, stepping in the boat and searching it. "He is not here, certainly," he added, after looking over it.
"I'll wait a while, and then we must look out for ourselves. No use of losing our own hair in tryin' to help him," rejoined Kent.
Both took the boat, and turning it over so as to free it from water, shoved it out from the beach.
"Halloa, Leslie! If you're about just say so, and if you ain't let us know," shouted Kent, in a loud voice.
A silence of a few moments followed, when he repeated the call. To the surprise of both it was answered.