At midnight we came to understand why Kenton had been so solicitous for our welfare.
Then he aroused us, saying as we opened our eyes:
"I reckon you lads don't want to stay here any longer, an' it's time we were movin'?"
"Where are you going?" I asked sleepily.
"Ahead of the flat-boats. Unless we start now there's little chance we can do the party much good, an' I'm countin' on makin' a better job than was the first one."
It was not to my liking, this setting out in the middle of the night to drift through a country infested, as we had by this time every reason to believe, with savage enemies, and I failed to understand how we could be of benefit to the volunteers by sailing down the river in the darkness when we might pass an hundred bands of reptiles without having any suspicion they were near.
This much I said to Kenton, and he replied with a laugh:
"I reckon we can count on the river's bein' clear for the next thirty miles, an' after we've gone that far it'll be a case of layin' alongside the bank to wait for daylight, or takin' a quiet little scout ashore."
"As you did last night," I said quietly, giving but little heed to the words, and a second later I could have bitten my tongue for having made such a slip, for the scout said grimly:
"Perhaps it'll be as well if we don't talk much about last night. The lad who leaves a canoe to search for a comrade who's out scoutin', not havin' left any word as to where he might be goin', ain't in good trim to cast up old scores at others."