The two bent their powerful backs a little and their great arms swept the paddles through the water at an amazing rate. The soul of Shif’less Sol surged up to the heights. He became dithyrambic and he spoke in a tone not loud, but full of concentrated fire and feeling.

“Fine, you Henry, you!” he said. “But we kin do better! The canoe is goin’ fast, but one or two canoes in the hist’ry o’ the world hez gone ez fast! We must go faster by ten or fifteen miles an hour an’ set the record that will stan’! It’s so dark in here I can’t see either bank, but I wish sometimes I could, warriors or no warriors! Then I could see ’em whizzin’ by, jest streaks, with all the trees and bushes meltin’ into one another like a green ribbon! Now, that’s the way to do it, Henry! Our speed is jumpin’! I ain’t shore whether the canoe is touchin’ the water or not! I think mebbe it’s jest our paddles that dip in, an’ that the canoe is flyin’ through the air! An’ not a soun’ from ’em yet! They haven’t discovered that the wrong warriors hev took thar boat, but they will soon! Now we’ll turn her in toward the southern bank, Henry, ’cause in the battin’ o’ an eye or two we’ll be whar the rest o’ the boys are a-lyin’ hid in the bushes! Now, slow an’ slower! I kin see the trees an’ bushes separatin’ tharselves, an’ thar’s the bank, an’ now I see the face o’ Long Jim, ’bout seven feet above the groun’! He’s an onery, ugly cuss, never givin’ me all the respeck that’s due me, but somehow I like him, an’ he never looked better nor more welcome than he does now, God bless the long-armed, long-legged, fightin’, gen’rous, kind-hearted cuss! An’ thar’s Paul, too, lookin’ fur all the world like a scholar, crammed full o’ book l’arnin’, ’stead o’ the ring-tailed forest runner, half hoss, half alligator, that he is, though he’s got the book l’arnin’ an’ is one o’ the greatest scholars the world ever seed! An’ that’s Tom Ross, with his mouth openin’ ez ef he wuz ’bout to speak a word, though he’ll conclude, likely, that he oughtn’t, an’ all three o’ ’em are pow’ful glad to see us comin’ in our triumphal Roman gallus that we hev captured from the enemy.”

“Galley, Sol, galley! Not gallus!”

“It’s all the same, galley or gallus. We hev got it, an’ we are in it, an’ it’s a fine big canoe with six paddles, one for ev’ry one o’ us an’ one to spare! Now here we are ag’in the bank, an’ thar they are ready to jump in!”

There was no time for hesitation, as a long and tremendous war whoop from a point up the stream seemed to surcharge the whole night with rage and ferocity. It was evident that the warriors had discovered that the wrong men had taken the canoe, as they were bound to do soon, and the chase would be on at once, conducted with all the power and tenacity of those who devoted their lives to such deeds.

“They’ll know, of course, that we’ve come down the stream, not daring to go against the current,” said Henry, “and they’ll follow with every canoe they have.”

“An’ more will run along either bank hopin’ fur a shot,” said the shiftless one, “an’ so while we turn our canoe into a shootin’ star ag’in we’ll hev to remember to keep in the middle o’ the stream. A lot o’ the dark that helped us to git the canoe is fadin’ away, leavin’ us to make our race fur our lives mostly in the open.”

The great war whoop came again, filling the forest with its fierce echoes, and then followed silence, a silence which every one of the five knew would be broken later by the plash of paddles. The valley Indians had great canoes, sometimes carrying as many as twenty paddles, and when twenty strong backs were bent into one of them it could come at greater speed than any five in the world could command.

But this five, calm and ready to face any danger, put their rifles where they could reach them in an instant, and then their canoe shot down the stream.

CHAPTER V
THE PROTECTING RIVER

The Ohio was the great stream of the borderers. It was the artery that led into the vast, rich new lands of the west, upon its waters many of them came, and upon its current and along its banks were fought thrilling battles between white men and red. Many a race for life was made upon its bosom, but none was ever carried on with more courage and energy than the one now occurring.

They kept well to the middle of the stream, which was still of great width, a full mile across, where they would be safe from shots from either shore, until the river narrowed, and although they sent the canoe along very fast, they did not use their full strength, keeping a reserve for the greater emergency which was sure to come.

Meanwhile they worked like a machine. The arms of five rose together and five paddles made a single plash. In the returning moonlight the water took on a silver color, and it fell away in masses of shimmering bubbles from the paddle blades. Before them the river spread its vast width, at once a channel of escape and of danger. The forest yet rose on either bank, a solid mass of green, in which nothing stirred, and from which no sound came.

The silence, save for the swish of the paddles, was brooding and full of menace. Paul, so sensitive to circumstance, felt as if it were a sullen sky, out of which would suddenly come a blazing flash of lightning. But to Henry the greatest anxiety was the narrowing of the river which must come before long. The Ohio was not a mile wide everywhere, and when that straightening of the stream occurred they would be within rifle shot of the warriors on one bank or the other. And while the Indians were not good marksmen, it was true that where there were many bullets not all missed.

A quarter of an hour passed, and they heard the war-whoop behind them, and then a few moments later the faint, rhythmic swish of paddles. The moonlight had been deepening fast, and Henry saw two of the great canoes appear, although they were yet a full half mile away. But they came on at a mighty pace, and it was evident that unless bullets stopped them they would overtake the fugitives. Henry put aside his paddle, leaving the work for the present to the others, and studied the long canoes. He and his comrades might strain as they would, but in an hour the big boats filled with muscular warriors would be alongside. They must devise some other method to elude the pursuit. A shout from Paul caused him to turn.

A peninsula from the south projected into the river, making its width at this point much less than half a mile, and upon the spit, which was bare, stood several Indian warriors, rifle in hand and waiting.

“Turn the canoe in toward the northern shore,” said Henry. “We must chance a shot from that quarter, dealing with the seen danger, and letting the unseen go. Sol, you and Tom take your rifles, and I’ll take mine too. Paul, you and Jim do the paddling and we’ll see whether those warriors on the sand stop us, or are just taking a heavy risk themselves.”

The canoe sheered off violently toward the northern bank, but did not cease to move swiftly, as Paul and Jim alone were able to send it along at a great rate. Henry, with his rifle lying in the hollow of his arm, watched a large warrior standing on the edge of the water.

“I’ll take the big fellow with the waving scalp lock,” he said.

“The short, broad one by the side o’ him is mine,” said Shif’less Sol. “Which is yours, Tom?”

“One with red blanket looped over his shoulder,” replied the taciturn rover.

“Be sure of your aim,” said Henry. “We’re running a gauntlet, but it’s likely to be as much of a gauntlet for those warriors as it is for us.”

Perhaps the Indians on the spit did not know that the canoe contained the best marksmen in the West, as they crowded closer to the water’s edge, uttered a yell or two of triumph and raised their own weapons. The three rifles in the canoe flashed together and the big warrior, the short, broad one, and the one with the red blanket looped over his shoulder, fell on the sand. One of them got up again and fled with his unhurt comrades into the forest, but the others lay quite still, with their feet in the water. As the marksmen reloaded rapidly, Henry cried to the paddlers:

“Now, boys, back toward the middle of the river and put all your might in it!”

Paul and Long Jim swung the canoe into the main current, which had increased greatly in strength here, owing to the narrowing of the stream, and their paddles flashed fast. Two of the Indians who had fled into the woods reappeared and fired at them, but their bullets fell wide, and Henry, who had now rammed in the second charge, wounded one of them, whereupon they fled to cover as quickly as they did the first time.

Shif’less Sol and Tom Ross had also reloaded, but put their rifles in the bottom of the boat and resumed their paddles. The danger on the land spit had been passed, but the great canoes behind them were hanging on tenaciously and were gaining, not rapidly, but with certainty. Henry swept them again with a measuring eye, and he saw no reason to change his calculations.

“They’ll come within rifle shot in just about an hour,” he repeated. “We’d pick off some of them with our bullets, but they’d keep on coming anyhow, and that would be the end of us.”

Such a solemn statement would have daunted any but those who had escaped many great dangers. Imminent and deadly as was the peril, it did not occur to any of the five that they would not evade it, the problem now being one of method rather than result.

“What are we going to do, Henry?” asked Paul.

“I don’t know yet,” replied the leader, “but we’ll keep going until something develops.”

“Thar’s your development!” exclaimed the shiftless one, as a rifle was fired from the northern shore, and a bullet plashed in the water just ahead of them. Then came a second shot from the same source which struck the inoffensive river behind them. They were now being attacked from both banks while the great canoes followed tenaciously.

“We don’t have to bother about one thing,” said Paul grimly. “We know which way to go, and it’s the only way that’s open to us.”

But the threat offered by the northern shore did not seem to be so menacing. The river began to widen again and rapidly, and the scattered shots fired later on came from a great distance, falling short. Those discharged from the southern bank also missed the mark as widely. Henry no longer paid any attention to them, but was examining the forest and the curves of the river with a minute scrutiny. His look, which had been very grave, brightened suddenly, and a reassuring flash appeared in his eye.

“What is it, Henry?” asked Shif’less Sol, who had noticed the change.

“We’ve been along here before,” replied the great youth. “I know the shores now, and it’s mighty lucky for us that we are just where we are.”

The shiftless one looked at the northern, then at the southern forest, and shook his head.

“I don’t ’pear to recall it,” he said. “The woods, at this distance away, look like any other woods at night, black an’ mighty nigh solid.”

“It’s not so much the forest, because, like you, I couldn’t tell it from any other, as it is the curve of the river. I thought I saw something familiar in it a little while ago, and now I know by the sound that I’m right.”

“Sound! What sound?”

“Turn your ears down the river and listen as hard as you can. After a while you’ll hear a faint humming.”

“So I do, Henry, but I wouldn’t hev noticed it ef you hadn’t told me about it, an’ even ef I do hear it I don’t know what it means.”

“It’s made by the rush of a great volume of water, Sol. It’s the Falls of the Ohio, that not many white men have yet seen, a gradual sort of fall, one that boats can go over without trouble most of the time, but which, owing to the state of the river, are just now at their highest.”

“An’ you mean fur them falls to come in between us an’ the big canoes? You’re reckonin’ on water to save us?”

“That’s what I have in mind, Sol. The falls are dangerous at this stage of the river, no doubt about it, but we’re not canoemen for nothing, and with our lives at stake we’ll not think twice before shooting ’em. What say you, boys?”

“The falls fur me!” replied the shiftless one, quickly.

“Nothin’ could keep me from takin’ the tumble. I jest love them falls,” said Long Jim.

“It’s that or nothing,” said Paul.

“On!” said Silent Tom.

“Then ease a little with your paddles,” said Henry. “The Indians know, of course, that the falls are just ahead, and I notice they are not now pushing us so hard. It follows, then, that the falls are at a dangerous height they don’t often reach, and they expect to trap us.”

“In which they will be mighty well fooled.”

“I think so. I’ll sit in the prow of the boat and do my best with my paddle to guide. I believe we can shoot the falls all right, but maybe we’ll be swamped in the rapids below. But we’re all good swimmers, and, if we do go over, every fellow must swim for the northern bank, where the Indians are fewest. Some one of us must manage to save his rifle and ammunition or we’d be lost, even if we happened to reach the land. Still, it’s possible that we can keep afloat. It’s a good canoe.”

“A good canoe!” exclaimed the shiftless one, in whom the spirit of achievement and of triumph was rising again. “It’s the finest canoe on all this great river, and didn’t I tell you boys that them that’s bold always win! Jest when our last chance ’peared to be gone, these falls wuz put squar’ly in our track to save us! Will they wreck us? No, they won’t! We’ll shoot ’em like a bird on the wing!”

He looked back at their pursuers, and gave utterance suddenly to a long, piercing shout of defiance. The Indians in the canoes replied with war whoops that Henry could read easily. They expressed faith in speedy triumph, and joy over the destruction of the five. He saw, moreover, that they were using only half strength now, preferring to take their ease while the game struggled vainly in the net. But as well as many of these warriors knew the five they did not know them to the full.

The shiftless one waited until their last war whoop died, and then, sending forth once more his long, thrilling note of defiance, he burst again into his triumphal chant.

“Steady now with the paddles, boys,” he cried, “an’ we’ll ride the water ez ef we’d done nothin’ else all our lives! Oh, I love rivers, big rivers, speshully when they hev a strong current like this that takes your boat ’long an’ you don’t hev to do no work! Now it reaches up a thousand hands that grab our canoe an’ sail ’long with it! Don’t paddle any more, boys, but jest hold yourselves ready to do it, when needed! The river’s doin’ all the work, an’ it never gits tired! Look, now, how the current’s a-rushin’, an’ a-dancin’, an’ a-hummin’! Look at the white water ’roun’ us! Look at the water behind us, an’ hear the roarin’ before us! Thar, she rocks, but never min’ that! Wait till the water comes spillin’ in! Then it will be time to use the paddles!”

He burst once more into that irrepressible yell of defiance, and then he cried exultantly:

“They slow up! They’re gittin’ afeard! We’ve made the race too fast fur ’em! Come on, you warriors! Ain’t you ready to go whar we will? These falls are fine an’ we jest love to play with ’em! We are goin’ to sail down ’em, an’ then we’re goin’ to sail back up ’em ag’in! Don’t you hear all that roarin’? It’s the tumblin’ o’ the water, an’ it’s singin’ a song to you, tellin’ you to come!”

The shiftless one’s own tremendous song had a thrilling effect upon his comrades. Their spirits leaped with it. The rushing canoe was now dancing upon the surface of the river, but somehow they were not afraid. They were at that reach of the river where a great city was destined to grow upon the southern shore, and which was to be the scene, a year or two later, of other activities of theirs, but now both banks were in solid, black forest, and no human habitation had yet appeared.

The canoe was rocking dangerously and all five began to use the paddles now and then, as the white water foamed around them. It required the utmost quickness of eye and hand to keep afloat, and the flying spray soon wet them through and through. Yet the soul of Shif’less Sol was still undaunted. He sang his song of victory, and although most of the words were lost amid the crash and roar of the waters, their triumphant note rose above every other sound, and found an echo in the hearts of the others.

Henry, looking back, saw that the long canoes had turned and were making for the southern shore. Great as was the prize they sought, they would not dare the falls, and half the battle was won.

“They don’t follow!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “And now for the miracle that will keep us afloat!”

The canoe raced down the watery slope and the spray continued to drench them, though they had taken the precaution to cover up their rifles and ammunition. But their surpassing skill had its reward. The descent soon became more gradual, the torrents of white water sank, and then they slid forward in the rapids, still going at a great rate, but no longer in danger.

“An’ we’ve left the enemy behind!” sang the shiftless one, looking back at the white masses. “He thought he had us, but he hadn’t! He turned back at the steep slope, but we came on! Thar’s nothin’ like havin’ a fall between you an’ a lot o’ pursuin’ Injun canoes, is thar, Paul?”

Paul laughed, half in amusement and half in nervous relief.

“No, Sol, there isn’t, at least not now,” he replied. “It looks as if these falls had been put here especially to save us.”

“I like to think so, too,” said the shiftless one.

The river was still very wide and they kept the canoe in its center, although they no longer dreaded Indian shots, feeling quite sure that no warriors were on either shore below the falls. So they went on three or four miles, until Paul asked what was the next plan.

“We must talk it over, all of us,” said Henry. “The canoe is of no particular use to us except as a way of escape from immediate danger.”

“But it and the falls together saved us,” said Shif’less Sol. “Oh, it’s a good boat, a fine boat, a friendly boat!”

“I hate to desert a friend.”

“It must be done. We can’t stay forever on the river in a canoe. That would merely invite destruction. The Indians can take their canoes out of the water, carry them around the falls and resume the pursuit.”

“O’ course I know you’re right, Henry. I wuz jest droppin’ a tear or two over the partin’ with our faithful canoe. We make fur the north bank, I s’pose.”

“That seems to me to be the right course, because the warriors will be thicker on the south side. We’ll keep our policy of defense against them by resuming the offense. What say you, Paul?”

“I choose the north bank.”

“And you, Jim?”

“North, uv course.”

“And you, Tom?”

“North.”

“And Sol and I have already spoken. We’ll make for the low point across there, sink the canoe and go into the forest. The Indians will be sure in time to pick up our trail and follow us, but we’ll escape ’em as we’ve escaped twice already.”

“Red Eagle and Yellow Panther will come for us now,” said Paul. “It’s their turn next.”

“Let ’em,” said Long Jim in sanguine tones. “They can’t beat us.”

They were now out of the rapids and were paddling swiftly toward the northern shore, with their eyes on a small cove, where the bushes grew thick to the water’s edge. When they reached it they pushed the canoe into the dense thicket and sank it.

“After all,” said Shif’less Sol, “we’re not partin’ wholly with our friend. We know whar he is, an’ he’ll wait here until some time or other when we want him ag’in.”

Gathering up their arms, ammunition and supplies, they traveled northward through the dense forest until they came to a small and well sheltered valley, where they concluded to rest, it being full time, as collapse was coming fast after their great exertions and intense strain. Nevertheless, Silent Tom was able to keep the first watch, while the others threw themselves on the ground and went to sleep almost instantly.

Tom had promised to awaken Shif’less Sol in two hours, but he did not do so. He knew how much his comrades needed rest, and being willing to sacrifice himself, he watched until dawn, which came bright, cold at first, and then full of grateful warmth, a great sun hanging in a vast disc of reddish gold over the eastern forest.

Silent Tom Ross, in his most talkative moments, was a man of few words, at other times of none, but he felt deeply. A life spent wholly in the woods into which he fitted so supremely had given him much of the Indian feeling. He, too, peopled earth, air and water with spirits, and to him the wild became incarnate. The great burning sun, at which he took occasional glances, was almost the same as the God of the white man and the Manitou of the red man. He had keenly appreciated their danger, both when Henry was at the hollow, and when they were in the canoe on the river, hemmed in on three sides. And yet they had come safely from both nets. The skill of the five had been great, but more than human skill had helped them to escape from such watchful and powerful enemies.

Tom Ross, as he looked at the faces of his comrades, knitted to him by so many hardships and perils shared, was deeply grateful. He took one or two more glances at the great burning sun, and the sky that looked like illimitable depths of velvet blue, and then he surveyed the whole circle of the forest curving around them. It was silent there, no sign of a foe appeared, all seemed to be as peaceful as a great park in the Old World. Tom said no words, not even to himself, but his prayer of thanks ran:

“O Lord, I offer my gratitude to Thee for the friends whom Thou hast given me. As they have been faithful to me in every danger, so shall I try to be faithful to them. Perhaps my mind moves more slowly than theirs, but I strive always to make it move in the right way. They are younger than I am, and I feel it my duty and my pleasure, too, to watch over them, despite their strength of body, mind and spirit. I have not the gift of words, nor do I pray for it, but help me in other things that I may do my part and more.”

Then Tom Ross felt uplifted. The dangers passed were passed, and those to come could not press upon him yet. He was singularly light of heart, and the wind sang among the leaves for him, though not in words, as it sang often for Henry.

He took another look at his comrades, and they still slept as if they would never awake. The strain of the preceding nights and days had been tremendous, and their spirits, having gone away with old King Sleep to his untroubled realms, showed no signs of a wish to come back again to a land of unlimited peril. He had promised faithfully to awaken one of them long ago for the second turn at the watch, and he knew that all of them expected to be up at sunrise, but he had broken his promise and he was happy in the breaking of it.

Nor did he awaken them now. Instead he made a wide circle through the forest, using his good eyes and good ears to their utmost. The stillness had gone, because birds were singing from pure joy at the dawn, and the thickets rustled with the movements of small animals setting about the day’s work and play. But Silent Tom knew all these sounds, and he paid no attention to them. Instead he listened for man, man the vengeful, the dangerous and the deadly, and hearing nothing from him and being sure that he was not near, he went back to the place where the four sleepers lay. Examining them critically he saw that they had not stirred a particle. They had been so absolutely still that they had grown into the landscape itself.

Tom Ross smiled a deep smile that brought his mouth well across his face and made his eyes crinkle up, and then, disregarding their wishes with the utmost lightness of heart, he sat himself down, calmly letting them sleep on. He produced from an inside pocket a long stretch of fine, thin, but very strong cord, and ran it through his fingers until he came to the sharp hook on the end. It was all in good trim, and his questing eye soon saw where a long, slender pole could be cut. Then he put thread and hook back in his pocket, and sat as silent as the sleepers, but bright-eyed and watchful. No one could come near without his knowledge.

Shif’less Sol awoke first, yawning mightily, but he did not yet open his eyes.

“Who’s watchin’?” he called.

“Me,” replied Ross.

“Is it day yet?”

“Look up an’ see.”

The shiftless one did look up, and when he beheld the great sun shining almost directly over his head he exclaimed in surprise:

“Why, Tom, is it today or tomorrer?”

“It’s today, though I guess it’s well on to noon.”

“Seein’ the sun whar it is, an’ feelin’ now ez ef I had slep’ so long, I thought mebbe it might be tomorrer. An’ it bein’ so late an’ me sleepin’, too, it looks ez ef the warriors ought to hev us.”

“But they hevn’t, Sol. All safe.”

“No, Tom, they hevn’t got us, an’ now, hevin’ learned from your long an’ volyble conversation that it ain’t tomorrer an’ that we are free, ’stead o’ bein’ taken captive an’ bein’ burned at the stake by the Injuns, I’m feelin’ mighty fine.”

“Sol, you talk real foolish at times. How could we be took by the Injuns an’ be burned alive at the stake, an’ not know nothin’ ’bout it?”

“Don’t ask me, Tom. Thar are lots o’ strange things that I don’t pretend to understan’, an’ me a smart man, too. Here, you, Jim Hart! Wake up! Shake them long legs an’ arms o’ yours an’ cook our breakfast!”

Silent Tom began to laugh, not audibly, but his lips moved in such a manner that they betrayed risibility. The shiftless one looked at him suspiciously.

“Tom Ross,” he said, “what you laughin’ at?”

“You told Long Jim to cook breakfast, didn’t you?”

“I shorely did, an’ I meant it, too.”

“He ain’t.”

“Why ain’t he?”

“Because he ain’t.”

“Ef he ain’t, then why ain’t he?”

“Because thar ain’t any.”

“Thar ain’t any breakfast, you mean?”

“Jest what I say. He ain’t goin’ to cook breakfast, ’cause thar ain’t any to cook, an’ thar ain’t no more to say.”

Henry and Paul, awakening at the sound of the voices, sat up and caught the last words.

“Do you mean to tell us, Tom,” exclaimed Paul, “that we have nothing to eat?”

“Shorely,” said Silent Tom triumphantly. “Look! See!”

All of them examined their packs quickly, but they had eaten the last scrap of food the day before. Silent Tom’s mouth again stretched across his face with triumph and his eyes crinkled up.

“Right, ain’t it?” he asked exultantly.

“Look here you, Tom Ross,” exclaimed Shif’less Sol, indignantly, “you’d rather be right an’ starve to death than be wrong an’ live!”

“Right, ain’t I?”

“Yes, right, ain’t you, ’bout the food, an’ wrong in everythin’ else. Ef you say ’ain’t’ to me ag’in, Tom Ross, inside o’ a week, I’ll club you so hard over the head with your own gun that you won’t be able to speak another word fur a year! The idee o’ you laughin’ an’ me plum’ dead with hunger! Why, I could eat a hull big buffler by myself, an’ ef he wuzn’t cooked I could eat him alive, an’ on the hoof too, so I could!”

Tom Ross continued to laugh silently with his eyes and lips.

“What are we to do?” asked Paul in dismay. “If we were to find game we wouldn’t dare fire at it with the Indians perhaps so near.”

“True,” said Tom Ross.

“And if we can’t fire at it we certainly can’t catch it with our hands.”

“True,” said Tom Ross.

“And then are we to starve to death?”

“No,” said Tom Ross.

Paul did not ask anything more, but his questioning look was on the silent man.

“Fish,” said Tom Ross, showing his line and hook.

“Where?” asked Shif’less Sol.

“Fine, clear creek, only hundred yards away.”

“Do you know that it hez any fish in it?”

“Saw ’em little while ago. Fine big fellers, bass.”

“Then be quick an’ ketch a lot, ’cause the pangs o’ starvation are already on me.”

Tom Ross cut the slim pole that he had already picked out and measured with his eye, took squirming bait from the soft earth under a stone, just as millions of boys in the Mississippi valley have done, and started for the creek, Paul being delegated to accompany him, while Henry, Long Jim and the shiftless one proceeded to build a fire in the most secluded spot they could find. There was danger in a fire, but they could shield the smoke, or at least most of it, and the risk must be taken anyhow. They could not eat raw the fish which they did not doubt for a moment Tom Ross would soon bring.

Meanwhile Paul and Tom reached the banks of the creek, which was all the silent one had claimed for it, fifteen feet wide, two feet deep, clear water, flowing over a pebbly bottom. Tom tied his string to the pole, and threw in the hook and bait.

“You watch, I fish,” he said.

Paul, his rifle in the crook of his arm, strolled a little bit down the stream, examining the forest and listening attentively for any hostile sound. Since it was his business to protect the fisherman while he fished, he meant to protect him well, and no enemy could have come near without being observed by him. And yet he had enough detachment from the dangers of their situation to drink deep in the beauty of the wilderness, which was here a tangle of green forest, shot with wild flowers and cut by clear running waters.

But he did not go so far that he failed to hear a thump where Tom Ross was sitting, and he knew that a fine fish had been landed. Presently a second thump came to his ear, and, glancing through the bushes, he saw Tom taking the fish off the hook, a look of intense satisfaction on his face. Then the silent fisherman threw in the line again and leaned back luxuriously against the trunk of a tree, while he waited for his third bite. Paul smiled. He knew that Silent Tom was happy, happy because he had prepared for and was achieving a necessary task.

Paul went on in a circuit about the fisherman, crossing the creek lower down, where it was narrower, on a fallen log, and discovered no sign of a foe, though he did come to a bed of wild flowers, the delicate pale blue of which pleased him so much that he broke off two blossoms and thrust them into his deerskin tunic. Then he came back to Silent Tom, to find that he had caught four fine large fish, and, having thrown away his pole, was winding up his line.