Half an hour after, three persons rose from a full meal of broiled venison, comforted and refreshed, and little Ruby Roland asked:
“Now, gentlemen, which way?”
“Straight across that thar stream,” said Kenton, pointing to the deep but narrow channel which separated them from the south bank. “I’ve been lookin’ fur a place to cross dry-shod, and thur ain’t but two ways: uther to swim, or to make a ring-tailed squealer of a jump, which we mout do, but the lady kurn’t.”
“I will show you a better way than that,” said Ruby, smiling, “if you will follow me.”
She led them to the south side of the island, where the swift current had undermined the bank, till it overhung considerably. At this point the stream was not over twenty feet wide, and a clump of young chestnut trees overhanging the water, almost met with their foliage the boughs of a water-elm on the other bank.
The girl threw her bow and quiver to her back, swung herself up one of the young trees like a monkey, and immediately her weight caused it to bend down and touch the boughs of the elm-tree.
Light as a mountain-cat, she walked along the swaying perch, caught hold of a long, slender bough of the elm, and swung safely on her feet on the south bank of the river.
“Well done, by the holy poker!” said Kenton, admiringly. “Ef I’d ’a’ thunk of that last night, whar would you ha’ be’n, cunnel? No miss fire, then.”
And the reckless borderer crossed the stream, followed by his companion, both laughing at the recollection of the ludicrous mistake of the night before.
Arrived on the other side, both became grave and professional at once; and the girl Ruby, who had hitherto taken the lead, remained subject to the further direction of her protectors.