"But they have hit you. Are you hurt much?"
"No; 'tain't wuth mindin'."
"Let me do up your wound, Rattleshag," interposed Fanny, tearing off a piece of her calico dress for the purpose.
"The blood kinder bothers me, and you may," said the trapper, as he bared his muscular arm.
The ball had ploughed through the fleshy part of the arm, inflicting a severe, though not dangerous, wound. Fanny bound it up as well as she could, with lint made from her linen collar, and Rattleshag declared that it felt "fust rate."
Wahena was still in the boat, where Ethan had taken the precaution to tie him to the mast, after first binding his arms behind him. He still lay in the bottom of the boat, the consciousness of his own danger preventing him from showing himself.
"We mought hev to stop here all day," said the trapper, after they had waited some time for a further demonstration on the part of the Indians.
"As long as we are safe, we need not mind that," replied Fanny.
"I reckon we ain't safe much," added Ethan.
He had scarcely uttered the words before a savage yell was heard from the enemy on the other side of the river.