"Most like you won't, boy. That Injun that went down to look for t'other mought have took it."
"What will you do, then?" asked Ella.
"We shall be obliged to walk another mile, to the landing-place."
My trembling companion was constantly in fear of an attack from the savages, or that a shot from them would hit her, or some other one of the party. I said all I could to comfort and assure her; but the circumstances were so novel to her that she could not be reconciled to them. As I was not without fear myself, I could not take the matter so coolly as Kit did. But the old hunter, steady and brave as he was in peril, was a prudent man, and not at all disposed to be reckless. He knew that an Indian bullet could kill him, as well as another man, and he had none of that affectation of courage which so often belies the boaster and the reckless man.
"Hyer's your barge," said Kit, ahead of us, when we had gone less than half a mile down the stream.
"So it is; but I did not leave it here," I replied, as I glanced at the boat.
"That Injun has come up stream in it, and left it hyer. Most like he ain't fur from hyer."
I assisted Ella into the barge. Kit seated himself in the bow, and I took the oars.
"Fotch her over under the further shore, boy," said Kit, as I pushed off the boat. "Keep as fur as you kin from danger allus."
The old hunter's suggestion was certainly a good one, as was fully demonstrated only a few minutes later. I pulled the barge to the other side of the river; but we had gone only a few rods before the crack of a rifle, followed by a whizzing bullet, assured us the enemy were at hand. The barge was painted white, and was a shining mark in the night for the savages to fire at.