Panting he drew his fearful burden upon the bank and greeted Kit.
“What kept you, Cohoon?” asked the scout, in the lowest of whispers.
“Fight with dead man,” was the Indian’s reply. “Kit cut hand loose.”
The scout drew his hunting-knife and felt for the hand.
A moment’s quest enabled him to find the member, and when he ran his own hand over it he started back.
Cohoon heard the low ejaculation of surprise that fell from Kit’s lips, and said:
“What matter, Kit? Who catch Cohoon in water?”
The reply was breathed into the Indian’s ears by lips that touched it.
“Great Heavens, it’s ’Van Harris; I know by a certain ring he wears—a ring ’Reesa gave him a year ago.”
Then Cohoon whispered in return: