“I have just found a poor dog, half drowned, in the water.”
“Why don’t you pick him up, then?”
“Afraid he might swim away, if I should try.”
“Try, and see whether he will.”
Moffat rowed up to him, and took him in.
“Now pull for the other shore,” said Kingman, “for I have had enough of this for the present.”
In going across, nothing occurred to alarm them, and our two friends related to each other their experience since they parted. Moffat gave it as his opinion that Kingman had had quite an adventure—something that would do to tell when they got home.
“But where do you suppose that Shawnee of yours is?” asked Moffat.
“I suppose he is watching behind that tree yet,” laughed Kingman. “You haven’t told me yet how you came by this canoe.”
“Oh, there is little to tell of that. When our company dropped their doors with which they were carrying the Injin fort, and I found every man was for himself, and all for no, I thought I’d try a journey on my own hook. So I dug for the woods until I supposed I was clear of the crowd, when I made tracks for the river. Just before I got there, I come ’cross two little Injin boys—little devils out shooting our men and learning to scalp on their own hook; and, would you believe it, the confounded imps had a couple top-knots they had haggled off of some poor fellow’s head. They found them half dead, I suppose, and then shot and finished them. They didn’t happen to have loaded their guns yet, and the way I walked into their meat-houses was a caution to bears. That split in that rifle stock came from splitting both their heads. I laid ’em out stark and stiff, so that there’s no likelihood of their lifting the hair of any more of our boys for a considerable time. Wal, as their guns wan’t of any use to me, I let ’em alone, and just took their ammunition, and went on down the river. After going a half mile or so, I stumbled onto this canoe pulled in snug under the bank. As the owner wasn’t about to ask permission, I borrowed it until I could return it.