“Very well, then, you have a say, and tell me what he means by hanging on to us as he does.”
“I cannot explain it, of course. How can I tell what Gunson means? All I know is, that it’s better to have a man with us who seems to know something about the country.”
“Ah, but does he?” said Esau, with a cunning look. “I don’t believe he knows anything about it. He’s been cramming us full of stories about dangers and stuff to frighten us. You’ll see it won’t be half so bad as you say. Hullo! what’s the matter?”
For at that moment there arose a curious yelling sound which sent a chill through me.
“We’ve run down a boat,” I said excitedly, “and the people are drowning.”
I ran toward the bows of the little panting and snorting steamer, where those on board were gathered in a knot, and just then the skipper shouted an order, the clank of the engine ceased, and I caught sight of a curious-looking canoe that had come out from one of the islands which dotted the channel, and had been paddled across our course.
“Is any one drowned?” I said to Gunson excitedly.
“Drowned? no. Only going to take a passenger on board.”
By this time I was looking over the side at the occupants of the canoe, which was formed of skins stretched over a framework, and was now being paddled up close alongside. Then one of the men in her caught the rope thrown to him, and held on while a little yellow-complexioned boy, as he seemed to me, dressed in a blue cotton pinafore and trousers, and wearing a flat, black skull-cap, made of rolls of some material joined together, suddenly stood up and threw a small bundle on board, after which he scrambled over the side himself, nodding and smiling to all around. The rope was loosened by the man in the boat, the paddle-wheels began to beat the water again, and I watched the canoe as it rapidly fell astern.
“Well, what do you think of the Indians?” said Gunson, coming to where I stood.