The others nodded assent.
“How far back from the river is the Standish house, Sol?” asked Henry.
“'Bout three hundred yards, I reckon, and' it ain't more'n a mile down.”
“Then if we pull with all our might, we won't be too late. Tom, you and Jim give Sol and me the oars now.”
Henry and the shiftless one were fresh, and they sent the boat shooting down stream, until they stopped at a point indicated by Sol. They leaped ashore, drew the boat down the bank, and hastened toward a log house that they saw standing in a clump of trees. The enemy had not yet come, but as they swiftly approached the house a dog ran barking at them. The shiftless one swung his rifle butt, and the dog fell unconscious.
“I hated to do it, but I had to,” he murmured. The next moment Henry was knocking at the door.
“Up! Up!” he cried, “the Indians are at hand, and you must run for your lives!”
How many a time has that terrible cry been heard on the American border!
The sound of a man's voice, startled and angry, came to their ears, and then they heard him at the door.
“Who are you?” he cried. “Why are you beating on my door at such a time?”