But
just then he noticed the trunk of what appeared to be a huge hollow tree
leaning over a shallow brook, across which he must leap if he continued
his flight.

He entered the stream, ran swiftly a few steps with the current, and
then retraced his way to the tree. It was but the work of a moment for
him to climb to the broken top, and great was his relief when he saw
that the tree indeed was hollow. Without thought of where he might fall
he dropped into the welcome opening.

He fell several feet before the decayed wood provided a foothold strong
enough to enable him to stand. Fortunately the hollow of the tree was
larger than his body, and although he was cramped and almost blinded by
the decayed mass, he nevertheless managed to reach his hunting-knife,
and, making a small opening through the soft wood, peeped out to see if
his enemies were within sight. As he did so his fears were aroused that
the tree itself might fall. It was a mere shell and so decayed that he
was surprised that his descent had not torn it asunder.

At that moment a wild cry, plainly from the road, came to his ears. Then
shouts were followed by the reports of guns and answering whoops from
the Indians.

Anxious for his friend Israel, Peleg turned once more to ascertain if
any of his enemies were near his hiding-place. He was hopeful that his
trail could not be followed farther than the bank of the little brook,
although he was sufficiently familiar with Indian ways to know that the
red men, if they really were pursuing him, would run in either direction
along the banks until they found the place where he had left the water.
He smiled as he recalled how he had been standing in the stream when he
had thrown his arms around the trunk of the bending tree. Singing Susan
was still held, but it would be impossible for him in his cramped
position to make use of her musical voice.

Suddenly Peleg was startled to behold an Indian step forth from the
forest and stand for a moment on the bank of the stream almost directly
beneath him. His surprise increased when he recognized the warrior as
Henry. He had believed that the white Shawnee, as Henry had loved to
call himself, had been killed in the attack on Boonesborough. His brave
deed in extinguishing the fire that had been kindled by the burning
arrow had been followed, as Peleg and others had believed, by his death.
At least every one had seen him fall from the roof and roll to the
ground. It is true,