"Now to land!" cried Sandy, as they turned the head of the canoe toward shore.
"Less noise, brother," whispered Bob; for the impetuous one was forever forgetting that a frontiersman must learn that silence is the price of safety when in the woods where the red man dwells.
"But why do you keep looking up at the sky so much?" went on Sandy. "Just because it has clouded up, is no sign it will rain. Have we not heard that all signs fail in dry weather? And, even if that old humbug of a medicine man pretends he has had it direct from Manitou, I see no reason for being alarmed. Let it rain if it chooses. We can hunt in wet clothes as well as in dry."
"Surely," replied Bob, pretending to throw aside his doubts, for he saw no reason why Sandy should share them; if trouble came they would know how to meet it.
So they landed in the snug little cove.
"Shall we stake the canoe out here in the rushes?" asked Sandy.
"Not this time," replied Bob. "Take hold, and we will carry it up to that clump of bushes yonder. It can lie there safe until we come again."
"Oh!" laughed Sandy, "I see you still believe the river will rise suddenly, and threaten to carry off our only means of getting home!"
"Who knows?" replied the other, quite unmoved by the accusation; "and, if it did come, we would be very glad that we had taken time by the forelock. Besides, it is not much further."