Bertram sat with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders and his musket resting beside him, where it could be caught up at a moment's warning. His companion did the same at the stern. The night was cold, and since they were prevented from warming their blood by moving about, they felt the chill despite the protection. When it seemed to them that midnight had come, they were to call two of their friends and change places with them.
Soon after the couple had gone on guard, a gentle wind arose. It sighed dismally among the leafless branches on shore, and caused a faint rippling against the hull, which added to the loneliness of the place. No sound of wild animal or signal of men was heard amid the chilling solitude around them. The lowering of the temperature was so recent that the boat had met no ice on its way, though a few needlelike points began putting out from the swampy shore, and more of it was likely to form within the next few days.
Bertram had held his place for nearly two hours without hearing or seeing anything to cause misgiving. Deep, impenetrable darkness shut in the boat. In no direction could the watchers catch the faintest outline of the shore. The sky was partly cloudy, and the new moon was hidden, though a few stars twinkled overhead without adding any light to the impressive scene.
There was no danger of either of the men falling asleep while at his post. They might have done so had they tried to watch until daybreak. As it was, they continued as vigilant as if pacing to and fro in front of a camp fire.
At the end of the time named Bertram heard a sound that he knew meant danger. It was so faint that he was neither sure of its nature nor of the point whence it came. He shoved down the top of the blanket from his ears and listened. Fancying that the noise had been on his right, he leaned forward in the effort to penetrate the gloom, and closed one hand about the barrel of his musket.
Five or ten minutes of silence followed, when he heard the noise again-still faint, but distinct enough to show its nature as well as its direction. It was made by the dip of a paddle, and his first impression of the point whence the sound came was right. Beyond a doubt, a party of Indians in a canoe were hunting for the barge.
Bertram did not signal to his companion, for he might be held by some discovery of his own. He leaned farther over the gunwale and peered into the darkness. He lifted his gun so that it lay across his knee, and smothering the click made by the lock, drew back the clumsy hammer, with the bit of yellow flint clutched in its maw.
Thus gazing, he made out a shadowy something, which looked like a section of the gloom, resting on the water. It was moving very slowly, neither approaching the barge nor receding from it, but seemingly making a circuit of the craft. It was a canoe, but instead of completing the circuit on which it had started, it paused when just in front of the bow.
The sentinel thought that it would not stay motionless long, but would pass on, probably coming nearer the larger boat; but minute after minute passed without any change of its position. Several times when Bertram was intently looking he was sure there was nothing in sight; but, upon shifting his gaze for a moment and bringing it back again, his doubt vanished. The canoe was there, though he could not tell how many persons it contained.
Perplexed and uncertain of what he ought to do he emitted a cautious call to his companion, who stealthily made his way to his side.