All at once he heard a footstep. The pursuers were then at hand! Resolved to lay one savage low, he rushed forward toward the approaching figure. Could it be possible? Was it not a dream? There she stood before his eyes. His limbs trembled, and he felt upon the point of falling.
"Is this Mr. Leslie?" asked a sweet voice that had thrilled him more than once before.
"I guess it's him or his spook," answered Kent, for him. "If there's goin' to be any huggin' done, hurry up with it, fur they're follerin' us."
This threw off all reserve. Leslie folded Rosalind to his breast. She spoke not—resisted not—her trembling limbs and sobs told more than words could have done.
"That'll do for the present," interrupted Kent, in a kind tone. "We must be off now, fur the red-skins have smelt the rat, and I should judge by the noise they're makin' that they're in a confounded muss. Never mind, don't cry. When we get down home out of danger, I'll let you hug and cry as much as you please. Which way, Mr. Red-skin?"
Pequanon turned to the left and took long, impatient strides. Kent followed closely in his footsteps, while Leslie led the trembling Rosalind. Often, regardless of the danger which threatened, he pressed her to him and whispered words of which we can only guess the meaning.
On they hurried, half running, over the tangled underwood and fallen trees until they paused upon the brink of the river.
Here, to the surprise and joy of all, Pequanon running to a clump of bushes pulled forth a large canoe and shoved it into the stream. The others needed no admonition to use it.
"Here," said their guide, "we part. May the great Spirit guide you."
"Say, you, you'll get into trouble, won't you, if you go back?" queried Kent.