“There’s a boat comin’ up the river,” she said, “and of course it’s your’n. Now you fellers lie low, and she’s bound to land on the beach down thar. I’ll go up on the high ground and keep a lookout,” and away she ran.
It was growing dark in the woods, but in the cleared space around the Brown’s cabin it was light enough for the girl to see the boat come up the river, and steer directly for the sandy beach.
When she returned and told the waiting party that the boat was about to make a landing, Chap, who had been much excited by the news that there was a sail in sight, seized the club he had cut in the woods, and addressed the Indians:
“We must get along now to that landing-place, and the minute the boat touches the shore, we must make a rush at her and capture her.”
“No, no,” said The Talker; “that won’t do. If they hear us while they’re in boat, they push off, up sail, and we never see ’em ag’in. Wait till they come ashore, then we fix ’em. No hurry.”
Chap was obliged to acknowledge that this was good advice, but he contented himself with the determination that when the decisive moment came he would not let the Indians do all the fighting.
“We will move quietly down toward the river,” he said, “and then, when we are sure the boat is tied up, and they are on shore, we’ll make a rush for them.”
“All right,” said The Talker.
And slowly and cautiously the party, followed at a little distance by Mary Brown, made its way in the direction of the river.
