Without a word, she arose. Picking up his empty gun, he led the way toward the river. She kept close at his heels, panting with fear and excitement. Like two silent specters, they threaded the intricate maze of the forest. On reaching the edge of the wood, he remarked in a cautious whisper:
“Now comes the most dangerous part of our journey. Whatever happens, you must preserve perfect silence. Step carefully—a breaking twig may bring a dozen warriors upon us. Keep close to me—and be ready to obey my orders. If you see me drop to the ground, do likewise.”
She touched his arm, in token that she understood and would obey, but said nothing. Down the bank, and through the tangled bushes along the shore, they slowly made their way. Skillfully dragging the canoe from its hiding-place and launching it, he breathed in her ear:
“Let me hold the child while you get in.”
“But it may cry,” she whispered in reply.
“True,” he answered. “Here—let me assist you. Seat yourself in the bottom. That’s right.”—Then placing his rifle in the bow of the craft.—“Now lay the baby in your lap, and take this paddle.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, alarm in her whispered tone.
“The vessel is too light to carry all of us,” he answered quietly, but firmly. “You must paddle to the opposite shore. I’ll turn you around and start you. Don’t lose your head—and you’ll land safely.”
“But you?” she inquired, almost inaudibly.