The Indians remained silent spectators, until the fire began to decline, when by its dying light they plied their paddles, and their light canoe darted off, skimming the waves like a living thing.
The incident above described occupied but a short time; the boat, covered with thin, dry pine boards, having burned to the water's edge, soon sank, and the Indians having left the scene, all was again quiet.
And was an act so daring to be perpetrated, and yet remain secret? no—on the opposite shore, within the state of Kentucky, and far in the forest, were reposing by the embers of a dying fire, two hunters of the “far west.” One was enured to fatigue, had often skirmished with the Indians, and ever surrounded by danger, was as wily as the savage, as daring, and as bold. The other had had less experience, yet they could both look upon death and not grow pale. They were asleep. But habit had rendered them so watchful, that the lightest step would arouse them from the deepest slumber, and scarcely had echo ceased repeating the first war-whoop which rang through the forest, before they stood erect, mute as statues, with rifles ready cocked, gazing deep into the woods. Another moment, and yet no cry—another, and another, and still all was quiet.
“I say, Earth, that cry must have come from some boat on the Ohio; the Indians are murdering some emigrant family.”
“It must be so, Rolfe; where else could it have come from? Gather up our plunder, and let's be moving; there's no more sleep for us.”
“Not an inch, unless it be in search of those Indians,” said Rolfe.
“You must be a blockhead,” answered his companion; “where do you 'spose I am going? If what we suspect be true, I must make a hole through one of 'em—yes, I am obliged to do it. Now did you ever hear of my backing out from a fight, when there was the least chance of getting into it decently?”
“Come, then,” said Rolfe, “haste, haste, we may yet save the life of a fellow-creature. Oh God! will there never be an end to this cold-blooded butchering?”
“No—no end till we use 'em all up—but it's no use to hurry after Ingens; to beat 'em we must fight as they do. Rolfe, you are always too eager—an eel does not move through the water with less noise than we should through the forest, if we wish to do any thing.” So saying, and repressing the ardour of his companion, they began to move silently along to the bank of the river, groping their way as stealthily as the wild tenants of the woods.
“Earth, is it not strange that we hear no more of them?”