It came a minute later as the other raised his head full for a peep, and Seth's finger was pressing the trigger when with an exclamation of astonishment, he lowered his gun, crying,
"Good land! that's not a Canadian, but one of our own men!"
Sure enough, it was a Ranger who had thus been stalking Seth, supposing him to be an enemy, and who had come within an ace of losing his own life in the endeavor to take Seth's.
Relieved beyond expression, Seth sprang to his feet and shouted,
"Oh ho, Ranger! Whom are you firing at?"
At this the other came out from his cover, and with beaming face hurried over to him. It was Andrew Wilcox, who had lost his way in the forest, and was doing his best to find it again when he sighted Seth, and, mistaking him for one of the enemy, determined to get the first shot whatever might be the consequences.
Highly delighted at the fortunate meeting, the two set forth with renewed energy, and by the middle of the afternoon reached the rendezvous, where they found the rest of the company already assembled, and Major Rogers in a humor to rate them for their being last, but on hearing Seth's explanation he considered it sufficient, and said in a kindly tone,
"Not your fault this time, Ensign, and now let us see how we're to get across this lake."
Having neither bateaux nor canoes the only thing to be done was to build a raft, and to this they now gave themselves, toiling away like beavers, and making use so far as possible of the dry driftwood that abounded until they had completed an ugly and clumsy but substantial structure.
Then under cover of darkness they set out for the western shore, propelling their slow craft by means of such rude paddles as they could fashion with their hatchets.