or his late gallant
exertions; "the current won't stop for no man; an' the bales ain't
likely to stem it o' their own accord till we're ready to look for 'em."

Saying this, he set off down the river at a run, followed by all the
others, including March, who, after wringing the water from his
garments, and resting a few minutes, felt as well and strong as ever.
But, alas! their losses were grievous and irreparable. Their little
bundles of spare clothing and trinkets for trading with, or
conciliating, the Indians, were indeed saved, but their guns and all
their ammunition were gone. All that remained to them of the latter
were the few charges of powder in the horns suspended round their necks,
and a few slugs and bullets in their pouches. The only firearms left
were Bertram's cavalry pistols.

As for the canoe, it was smashed so thoroughly, that only a very few
shreds of bark were cast up on the shore; but entangled with these
shreds they were happy to find several of their steel traps--a most
fortunate circumstance, as it held out hopes that they might still be
enabled to prosecute to some extent the main object of their expedition.

As each man had been in the habit of carrying his axe and knife in his
belt, those indispensable implements of the backwoodsman were saved; but
the loss of guns and ammunition was a very severe misfortune, and one
which, for at least half an hour after every attempt to recover them had
failed, cast a damp over the spirits of the whole party. But these men
had neither time nor inclination to hang down their heads and sigh. Big
Waller, being a careless individual by nature, was the first to regain
somewhat of his wonted tone and manner. Sitting on a grassy knoll, on
which all the party had been resting for some time after their fruitless
exertions, in moody silence, Waller looked up suddenly and said, "Who's
afraid?"

As no one happened at that moment to be exhibiting symptoms of terror,
and there was no apparent cause for fear, the question seemed
irrelevant. We therefore conclude that the bold Yankee meant by it to
imply that _he_, at least, was not afraid of _circumstances_, no matter
how disastrous or heartrending they might be. Having said this, he
looked at the faces of his companions one by one. The last face he
looked at was that of Gibault Noir, and it wore such a lugubrious aspect
of hopeless melancholy that Big Waller burst into an uncontrollable fit
of laughter, and B