The paddler in the bow of the canoe turned his head and looked at his companion, at the same time uttering a grunt of surprise and incredulity.
“You may keep him until I come back,” called the man who had answered to the name of Ross Douglas, lifting his paddle and preparing to resume his journey.
“Hold on there, Ross!”—shouted the individual on shore. “What do you mean—where’re you goin’?”
“Going to join General Harrison’s army at Vincennes.”
And the suspended paddles dipped, and the dugout leaped forward.
“Stop, I say!” bellowed the man who had hailed the voyagers, running along the shelving sands and gesticulating wildly. “Ross Douglas, you ain’t a goin’ to run off like that an’ leave an ol’ friend, without shakin’ his paw an’ biddin’ him good-by—I’m danged if you are! Stop, ’r I’ll send a bullet spinnin’ out there—I will, by Sally Matildy!”
“But I’m in a hurry,” Douglas laughed good-humoredly.
“It don’t make no differ’nce,” persisted the other. “Come in here.”
“Turn the prow toward shore, Bright Wing,” Douglas said in a low tone to his companion.
“Ugh!” grunted the latter—and obeyed.