While our bark canoes, the river
Skim, like swallows on the wing.—G. P. Morris.
As the Riflemen reached the spot where the settlers were awaiting them, the preparations for resuming the journey were instantly made. The dead oxen were rolled to one side, and on the hardened ground the wagon was easily dragged by the remaining yoke. The hunters and experienced men of the party were certain that the Shawnees had fled, and that, for the present at least, there was no further danger from them; but, in order to quiet the fears of the women, a thorough examination of the surrounding woods was made. This search resulted only in the discovery of the dead bodies of the Indians. As the Riflemen never scalped a savage, the bodies were left undisturbed.
"Where the deuce has Lew gone to?" demanded O'Hara, after several times looking around him.
Those who were acquainted with the facts of the case looked in each other's face, as if in doubt what to reply.
"Don't anybody know? eh? Say!" he repeated, in an angry voice.
"He's taken a near cut to the settlement," replied the elder Smith.
"Anybody go with him?"
"He took a female, believing that her safety demanded such a course."
"Lew never had more sense than he needed, and it's all gone now. Cutting across through the woods with a gal," repeated O'Hara, in a contemptuous tone. "Just as though she'd be safer with him than with us. I hope the Shawnees will get on his trail and catch both."