RIVER BANK

The days dragged into a week, and the Shawnees still clung to the banks of
the great river, occasionally hunting, but more often idling away their
time in the deep woods near the shore. Paul's wonder at their actions
increased. He could not see any purpose in it, and he spoke several times
to Braxton Wyatt about it. But Wyatt always shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not know," he said. "It is true they build no camp fires, at least
no big ones, and they do not seem to be much interested in hunting; but I
cannot guess what they are about, and I should not dare to ask Red Eagle."

Paul noticed that Red Eagle himself often went down to the bank of the
river, and would watch its surface with the keenest attention. But Paul
observed also that he always looked eastward--that is, up the stream--and
never down it.

Paul and Wyatt were allowed an increasing amount of liberty, but they were
held nevertheless within a ring through which they could not break; Paul
was shrewd enough to perceive it, and for the present he made no effort,
thinking it a wise thing to appear contented with his situation, or at
least to be making the best of it. Braxton Wyatt commended his policy more
than once.

On the morning of the seventh day the chief went down to the bank of the
river once more, and began to watch its surface attentively and long,
always looking up the stream. Paul and Braxton Wyatt and some of the
warriors stood among the trees, not fifty feet away. They also could see
the surface of the river for a long distance, and Paul's eyes followed
those of the chief, Red Eagle.

The Ohio was a great yellow river, flowing slowly on in its wide channel,
the surface breaking into little waves, that crumpled and broke and rose
again. Paul could see the stream for miles, apparently becoming narrower
and narrower, until it ended in a yellow thread under the horizon. Either
shore was overhung with heavy forest red with autumn's touch. Wild fowl
occasionally flew over the current. It was inexpressibly weird and lonely
to Paul, seemingly a silent river flowing on forever through silent
shades.

He saw nothing on the stream, and his eyes came back to the thin,
hatchet-faced chief, who stood upon the bank looking so intently. Red
Eagle had begun to interest him greatly. He impressed Paul as being a
thorough savage of savages, fairly breathing cruelty and cunning, and Paul
saw now a note of expectation, of cruel expectation, in the f