"Sandy! Blue Jacket, is it you?"
"Here!" exclaimed the escaped prisoner, unable to longer restrain his feelings; and in another moment he was clasped in a brother's sturdy embrace.
"No time lose," observed the practical Indian. "Come long me. River close by. Canoe p'raps wait. Paddle home. Tell white squaw Blue Jacket much glad."
In two minutes they had arrived at the border of the little stream, where Blue Jacket produced his canoe, hidden for this very purpose late that evening.
"Go quick! No time lose. Mebbe alarm come. Who can tell?" said the Indian.
Sandy had crept into the frail boat made of skins, and Bob was about to do so, after squeezing the hand of their red friend, when a smooth voice suddenly said:
"Sacre! it ees just as I thought when I saw him paddle his canoe here. Not so quick, young messieurs. You are not yet out of ze woods."