The new danger stimulated, rather than depressed, the spirit of our friends, and they began to view their situation in a rather novel light; but how long this would last was a question of doubt. True, the water was falling fast, still it would be several hours before they could set foot upon the island; and, without great precaution, in that time the enemy might bring to bear upon them some means that would dislodge them. The only difficulty that they experienced in their elevated retreat was the numbness of their limbs, occasioned by inactivity and the cramped position they were compelled to retain.
Town. drew the wet charge from his rifle, and reloaded with powder from Old Tumult’s horn, and thus in a few minutes he had his piece ready for use.
Something like an hour had passed after the defeat of Sherwood, when the attention of our flood-bound friends was attracted by a huge raft of driftwood coming down the river. It was some four hundred yards away when first discovered, and although a number of such rafts of flood-collected debris had passed down the river since daylight, this was the first one that attracted unusual attention from the keen eyes of Old Tumult.
“Thar’s deviltry up, boy,” said the old scout; “that ’ere raft o’ wood and sich, looks a leetle suspicious.”
“What do you judge from?” asked Town.
“Wal, thar’s too many logs piled on top o’ one anuther; and when you see thar’s some brush and such, piled onto the logs, in a kind o’ a careless way, it’s true; but I would not be afraid to bet there war Ingins among that ’ere driftwood.”
“If there is, we will give them a chunk or two of cold lead,” said Town., fixing his eyes upon the raft.
“Ah—they’re too sharp fur that, lad. They’re layin’ ahind the logs—mebbe half buried in the water—and jist as soon as they git close enough, we’ll hear, if we don’t feel, cold lead rattlin’ ’round us. Things begin to look scaly, boy, fur us, or I’m no judge.”
The two men felt no little uneasiness for the next ten minutes as to the real character of the raft. If there were Indians about it, as Old Tumult had no doubt but there were, they were so hidden among the logs and bushes as to defy all efforts of discovery, while at the same time the whites would be exposed to the rifles of the hidden enemy.
They could do nothing but watch and wait, while the raft continued to drift slowly toward them. It was about a hundred yards away when Old Tumult was sure he saw the head of a savage peering over a log, and, to convince himself as to whether such really was the case, he raised his rifle and fired at the object.