Bob Somerville sprung back into the cavern, and soon reappeared with a torch, which threw a ghastly glare around upon the water.
“There hev been a boat moored hyar,” said Bell, suddenly stooping and designating a certain spot with his finger. “But it’s gone now: that’s sartin, but who took it?”
“Coleola.”
“No she didn’t,” replied the hunter, looking up into the young scout’s face. “Ther Bloodhound an’ Big Moccasin came hyar first, an’ they vamosed in it. Coleola war forced to swim, then.”
“Where could she swim to?” questioned Somerville, with eagerness.
“Where, but to the other side of this ’ere black water?”
“And where is the other side? I see nothing.”
“I should reckon you didn’t, boy,” said the Indian-fighter. “But, I’m the fellar what’s goin’ to find out. Snakes! I wish that Indian gal’s hatchet had missed Coleola’s arm, and took her accursed throat.”
As he uttered the last word he handed the torch to Nehonesto, and he and Swamp Oak stepped into the lazy water.
A moment later there sounded the plash of expert swimmers, and the twain soon disappeared from those whom they left on the bank. They swam side by side a long distance in silence, and almost simultaneously their feet struck earth.