It was one night when they had returned from fishing, bringing in a great string of rock bass, that the lads talked this over, and at last concluded to go again to the Delaware town, even at the risk of having more trouble with Big Buffalo.
It seemed like a holiday after their hard work when, next day, the boys found themselves in their canoe, gliding over the river’s rippling waters on their way to Capt. Pipe’s home. They carried the craft overland to the lake and soon approached the Indian village.
But suddenly as they drew near, the noise of many voices was borne to them by the breeze. First loud, then low, the sounds came across the water. Ree’s face grew grave, and John, who had been whistling, abruptly paused.
“Ree,” he exclaimed, “that is the song of the war dance!”
“It means that the Indians are going on the warpath, as surely as we hear it,” was the answer. “Be on your guard, John. We will soon find out just what it means; for we won’t turn back now, even if we see the whole tribe in war paint.”
CHAPTER XVII.
Danger.
As Ree spoke, a war whoop sounded clear and strong, instantly followed by a weird, chanting song. In a minute or two this ceased, and then with fiercer war whoops than before, broke out afresh. Quickly the young pioneers floated nearer the scene of these warlike outbursts, and soon ran the nose of their canoe upon the gravelly beach. With fast-beating hearts they climbed the little bank which rose gradually a few feet back from the shore.