CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH PHIL ARRIVES AT THE CASTLE.
Mr. Gracewood was not rowing at the time I discovered the dugout, for the swift current of the Missouri gave us sufficient headway, and the oars were only used to keep the boat from whirling. Poor Ella, worn out by the fatigues and perils of the day, had dropped asleep, her head resting upon my shoulder. I only raised my hand, and pointed out the position of the dugout. Mr. Gracewood understood me, and looked in the direction indicated.
The three Indians in the boat were doubtless the ones who had visited the island in the morning. I concluded that they had found the dugout in which I had shot the savage, and which had probably grounded somewhere in the shallow water. But the Indians were not coming towards us, and I judged from their movements that they did not see us. The dugout came into the great river, and then headed down the stream.
"Don't move," I whispered to Mr. Gracewood.
"But the current is carrying us upon them," he replied, his anxiety apparent in his tones.
"If you can work her farther in shore without making any noise, do so," I added.
In paddling the dugout the Indians all faced ahead, instead of astern as in rowing. We were under the shadow of the high bank of the river, which was covered with wood. Mr. Gracewood carefully worked the barge nearer to the bank, until I was able to grasp the branch of a tree which had fallen down as the earth caved off beneath its roots. I held it there, and in a moment more the dugout disappeared in the gloom.
"They are not looking for us," said Mr. Gracewood.