“A couple of the red scamps tried to creep up, sir, like the slinkin’ serpents they are, but I think I put a ball through one of ’em.”
“Good!” said the Major. “That’ll make them think twice before they try it again. It may be a half-hour before they discover that we’re gone; and in that time we can cover a lot of distance.”
They now advanced steadily southward, at a more rapid rate. Ten minutes passed and they heard no alarm. Fifteen minutes and yet there was none. Twenty came, and by now they had reached the mouth of the creek, where it emptied into the swirling Rock River.
“Great Scott, look!” exclaimed Ben Gordon, pointing upstream a short way.
“Canoes!” cried Stillman, utmost joy in his tone.
“Yep, Injun canoes!” added the boy, gleefully eyeing the row of boats drawn up on the sloping bank, bottoms up.
“A hull danged fleet of ’em!” a soldier jubilated.
“Must belong to Black Hawk’s tribe,” opined the Major. “Mighty nice of the redskins to keep them at this particular place.”
There were six of the big bark boats, just sufficient to carry all thirty of the party. In a jiffy the craft were turned over and toted to the water. Two paddles were found underneath each.
The exultant men had hardly boarded the canoes and sunk their paddles into the water, when a long cry, piercing and full of anger, came from the grove that they had left.