He glanced around, but the Indian was nowhere in sight.
“Strange,” mused Bob. “He was here a few minutes ago. Could he have left?”
He called loudly, but it was unnecessary. The man had only stepped behind a bush, undecided as to whether to come in sight of the other whites, and at once left his place of concealment and walked out warily.
Bob and Joe beckoned for him to move up to them. At first he was uncertain, but finally concluded that it would be safe to venture nearer.
The boys introduced him as best they could by signs, and although it was rather awkward, they felt that much of his uncertainty vanished before the cordial attitude of Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton.
“Now we must get to the boats,” Joe’s father said. “Professor Bigelow will be worried about us, if he is not by now.”
They hiked on up the river, the chief following.
“Won’t the old boy be surprised when he finds that Professor Bigelow can talk with him!” smiled Joe, as they rounded a long bend.
“That isn’t a strong enough word,” laughed Mr. Holton. “Still,” he hesitated, “we don’t want to be too sure that this Indian is from the tribe that the professor was searching for.”