; they
cut the water swiftly and noiselessly. Onward the frail barks glided
into black space, side by side, close under the overhanging willows.
Long moments passed into long hours, as the guides paddled
tirelessly as if their sinews were cords of steel.

With gray dawn came the careful landing of the canoes, a cold
breakfast eaten under cover of a willow thicket, and the beginning
of a long day while they were lying hidden from the keen eyes of
Indian scouts, waiting for the friendly mantle of night.

The hours dragged until once more the canoes were launched, this
time not on the broad Ohio, but on a stream that mirrored no shining
stars as it flowed still and somber under the dense foliage.

The voyagers spoke not, nor whispered, nor scarcely moved, so
menacing had become the slow, listening caution of Wetzel and Zane.
Snapping of twigs somewhere in the inscrutable darkness delayed them
for long moments. Any movement the air might resound with the
horrible Indian war-whoop. Every second was heavy with fear. How
marvelous that these scouts, penetrating the wilderness of gloom,
glided on surely, silently, safely! Instinct, or the eyes of the
lynx, guide their course. But another dark night wore on to the
tardy dawn, and each of its fearful hours numbered miles past and
gone.

The sun was rising in ruddy glory when Wetzel ran his canoe into the
bank just ahead of a sharp bend in the stream.

"Do we get out here?" asked Jim, seeing Jonathan turn his canoe
toward Wetzel's.

"The village lies yonder, around the bend," answered the guide.
"Wetzel cannot go there, so I'll take you all in my canoe."

"There's no room; I'll wait," replied Joe, quietly. Jim noted his
look--a strange, steady glance it was--and then saw him fix his eyes
upon Nell, watching her until the canoe passed around the
green-bordered bend in the stream.

Unmistakable signs of an Indian town were now evident. Dozens of
graceful birchen canoes lay upon the well-cleared banks; a log
bridge spanned the stream; above the slight ridge of rising ground
could be seen the poles of Indian teepees.

As the canoe grated upon the sandy beach a little Indian boy, who
was playing in the shallow water, raised his head and smiled.

"That's an Indian boy," whispered Kate.

"The dear little fellow!" exclaimed Nell.

The boy came running up to them, when they were landed, with
pleasure and confidence shining in his dusky eyes. Save for tiny
buckskin breeches