“To be sure, there might be a chanct av the same happenin’,” Pat admitted; “but we’ll have to risk it, I fear, lads. Av we can only get to that point av land ye say below there, it would be a great place to step aboord, becase the boat must pass close by it.”
“And for the same reason the Indians are likely to think of it, and hurry here, in hopes of getting the same chance,” remarked Bob.
But all the same, he knew that Pat had planned wisely. There was really nothing else for them to do, unless they wished to allow the boat to pass on down-stream, and wait for them far below. That would necessitate the making of a temporary raft out of some big log, and floating down to rejoin their friends.
The lame trapper hurried as much as he could, utterly regardless of the pain the effort caused him, and in this way they presently reached the point of land that thrust out into the river.
“Perhaps they’ve already gone by?” suggested Sandy, when they failed to see anything of the floating house above their hiding-place.
“I hardly think there’s been time for that,” Bob replied. “The current is only about four miles an hour, Pat told us; and, unless my figuring is wrong, it would take them nearly half an hour to get past here. And we have been no such time making this point; have we, Pat?”
“’Tis right yees are, me bye,” replied the trapper; and he did not say more, for he was scanning the surface of the river as well as he was able.
“But it seems to me there’s a river fog coming up from below,” declared Sandy.
“Yes, that’s a fact,” admitted Bob; “I noticed that myself; but it isn’t going to be so thick we couldn’t see the flatboat passing anywhere this side of the middle of the stream.”