CHAPTER XII.
THE MEETING ON THE RIVER.
When Sandy awoke on the following morning, his joy was unbounded. Taking one look at Toma, he gasped and daubed frantically at his sleep-stained eyes. Both the young Indian and Dick laughed at the young Scotchman’s astonishment.
“How did you get here?” asked Sandy, finding his voice.
“I swim across the river,” grinned Toma.
“What’s that! Across the river!” Sandy’s eyes grew wide.
“Yes, that’s what I do. River cold and swift, but me, I think pretty sure I make it.”
“He arrived here in the middle of the night,” explained Dick. “It was about an hour after you woke me up to relieve you for guard duty.”
Sandy looked out at the river that swirled and rolled along northward. At the point where Toma had crossed, it was over half a mile wide. Its waters were swift and as cold as ice. A remarkable feat even for an expert.
All the boys were happy and in high spirits when they embarked in the canoe an hour later and resumed their journey upstream. Though it was hard work to paddle incessantly against the strong current, it was nevertheless a welcome relief after the days they had spent in travelling on foot. All day they sweated at their task. They were miles away from Wolf Brennan and his party by the time that night fell. They were turning in towards shore to make camp, when Toma, who was sitting in the bow, suddenly sang out:
“Canoe! Canoe! I see ’em canoe!”