“Little Deer! You are my friend?”
Leaping from rotting stump to decaying log, the borderer found himself committed to a precarious pathway. Often his foot found a transient resting-place only to leave black water behind as it was lifted. Sluggish snakes were disturbed by his passing and swam across slimy pools.
“Awi-Usdi!” Now the voice was filled with despair.
Springing to a long tree-trunk, inches deep in its pile of vivid green mould, Sevier ran to the end and parted the bushes. For a moment he was astounded by the spectacle he beheld. An Indian face was floating on the water, the painted features registering all the horrible anticipation of a hideous death.
Placing his rifle one side, Sevier manœuvred gingerly until he could reach down and grasp the scalp-lock. Although he could lift the head a trifle and easily drew the submerged body close to the log, he was unable to lift the man from the slime.
“What’s holding you down?” he demanded as a brown arm came from the dark water and clutched frenziedly at his wrist.
“Awi-Usdi heard my prayer! He sent you!” gasped the Indian.
“What’s holding you down?” angrily demanded Sevier.
“My feet are caught in the roots of a water-soaked stump,” groaned the warrior.
“Let go my wrist. I’ll get you out if you do as I say.”