The next day was really a repetition of that peaceful one. Sandy declared that he thought all the bad Indians must be on the Kentucky side of the Ohio, and that, if they were wise, they would remain on the northern shore from that time on; but Pat gave him to understand that it was six of one and half a dozen of the other, since marauding bands were constantly on the move, visiting between villages, or joining forces for a raid against the settlements of the hated palefaces.
It was about the middle of the afternoon when one of the men declared that he felt sure he had heard the distant report of firearms, and what seemed to be faint yells, from some point down the river.
Of course this excited everybody aboard the flatboat, from the oldest man down to the children, who were of an age to appreciate the perils by which they were constantly surrounded.
Some little time afterwards there was a cry raised that a man had been seen running over an elevation on the shore, and hotly pursued, it seemed, by the Indians.
Mr. Armstrong, realizing that perhaps another crisis was impending, ordered that the women and children should remain in the shelter of the cabin, while the rest crouched on deck, awaiting the turn of events.
“I see him now!” cried Sandy; “and, sure enough, he’s pushing for the river as fast as his legs will carry him.”
“And there come the savages chasing after him,” declared Bob. “There, now one stops, and sends an arrow, while another fires his gun; but he still runs on, and I do not think they could have hit him, because he keeps dodging this way and that all the time, to make them miss.”
“Begorra, now, p’raps they don’t be afther wantin’ to hit him,” suggested Pat, who was with the others, watching the stirring scene.
“Oh! he means that this may only be another trick of the Indians, meant to get us to draw in closer, so that the rest, who are hidden among the bushes, can pour in a volley, and then rush the boat,” Sandy burst out.