At length a gun barrel emerged from a great bank of rushes, followed by a rough, hunter-looking man.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“We came ashore from the Abeille at the wooding station, and have lost our way.”
“Whew!” he whistled, and rested on his gun; then scanned us both narrowly, for by this time my companion had slidden down from his post among the branches.
“Guess you had better come with me,” he said; and, shouldering his rifle, he turned and pushed his way through the reeds.
Soon we saw through the branches the glitter of water, and came out upon the bank of a river, smaller than that up which we had passed in the steamboat in the morning.
Here, concealed in the rushes, was a canoe, which he quickly launched, swinging the head round to where we were standing.
Without speaking, he motioned us to get into the frail craft, then followed himself, laying down his gun and taking up a paddle. With a few strokes he drove the canoe out into mid-channel.
Very soon the night fell, and the fireflies darted among the bushes on the shore. We now heard the barking of dogs, deep-toned and long-continued.
Ten minutes more and the canoe was laid alongside a shelving bank, some five or six feet high. Our boatman, quickly leaping ashore, fastened the chain of the canoe to a stump near the water’s edge, and bade us disembark.