Gunson turned, and was in the act of running toward our stopping-place, with some idea, as he afterwards told me, of tearing down two or three doors, when more plainly still came the hail. “Ahoy! Gordon. Ahoy!”
“Why, he is swimming back,” I cried. “Ah!” shouted Gunson, running back. “The Indians! It was about their time.”
Almost as he spoke, the end of a canoe propelled by four Indians came into sight slowly from behind the trees, and as it drew a little further into view, I could see Esau’s head just above the side right back in the stern, and this was followed by one bare arm, which was waved in the air, and he shouted—“Gordon. Ahoy! Got my clothes?” Gunson gave his foot an angry stamp, and walked back to the settler’s house.
Chapter Twenty Two.
We start up the River.
“Esau!” I cried, half hysterically, as the canoe was paddled up to the wharf; “you frightened us horribly.”
“You?” he said, coolly, “frightened you? Why, you should have been me.”
I said nothing then, but made signs to the Indians, who, partly from my motions, and partly from their understanding a few words of English, paddled the boat up to where we had undressed; and as Esau leaped ashore, and hurried on his clothes, he went on talking readily enough, though I could hardly say a word.