We both turned sharply, and Pomp exclaimed in words what I only too gratefully saw—
“Dah de capen an Mass’ Morgan in ’noder boat. Wha my fader too?”
I stood up for a moment and waved my hand, and then sat down, and we both pulled our best, after Pomp had grumbled a little, and wanted to let the boat float down alone.
A few minutes later I was holding on to the gunwale of the strange boat in which my father was seated, almost too much exhausted to speak.
“I was getting uneasy about you, my boy,” my father said, “for there have been some fresh rumours at the settlement about Indians, and Morgan went round and borrowed this boat; we were coming on to see after you. Why, George, is anything the matter?”
“Yes, father,” I panted. “The Indians—they are coming on.”
“No,” said Pomp sharply, and he struck his hand on the side of the boat to emphasise his words. “Mass’ George hear de fock—lose him lil self an holler, and he only tink it de— Ah, look! Look, Mass’ George, look! Who dat?”
He pointed back up the steam, where at the edge of the bank that the river swept round previous to passing along the straight reach, there stood two tall figures, their feathers and wild dress thrown up by the bright glare of the setting sun. They were evidently reconnoitring, and though we saw them clearly for a few seconds, the next moment they seemed to have died away.
“Indians,” said my father, drawing in his breath with a low hiss; “and we must not neglect this warning. Morgan, I’ll get in here with the boys; you go back, make your boat fast at the landing-place, and run up to the house, and bring your wife and Hannibal down.”
“But the things in the house, sir?”