Dave’s first movement was to get from the island to the bank of the stream. Having no desire to be carried further by that treacherous current, he entered the water with care and did not leave one foot-hold until he was sure of the next. It was now almost dark and the shadows along the shore were rapidly growing black and forbidding.

Having gained the bank, he wrung the water from his jacket and emptied his boots. The brushwood was thick close to the stream and he found if he wished to make any progress up the river he would have to enter the forest, fifty feet further back. This he did and was soon moving on, over moss, dead leaves, gnarled roots, and stones as speedily as his tired frame permitted. Under ordinary circumstances he would have dropped and gone to sleep, now the fear of what might happen kept him wide awake.

At last the forest came to an end and he found himself mounting the rocky canyon through which the stream had cut its way probably centuries before. Here he had to do a vast amount of climbing and long before the canyon came to an end he was so tired he could scarcely drag one foot after the other.

“It’s no use,” he groaned, half aloud. “I can’t get back to-night and I might as well look for some place where I can camp out. If I don’t take care I’ll become completely lost.”

A short distance further on he came to a pretty creek flowing into the river. Feeling he could not get lost as long as he kept near the creek, he followed this tiny stream until he felt certain the woods would hide him from the Indians should they come in that direction. He sank on a fallen tree and gave himself up to his dismal reflections.

What had become of the old hunter? Had Sam had trouble with the redskins, or was he following the river in hope of finding his companion?

“He won’t go far in the dark,” thought Dave. “Not as far as this, anyway, and as soon as it’s light I’ll get back to the river and keep on the watch for him.”

For some time he sat there in the dark, not daring to start a fire for fear the Indians would see the light. But his wet clothing chilled him through and through and afraid of getting sick if he remained all night in this condition he presently got out his flint and box and hunted for something for tinder. A bit of dry moss answered the purpose and it was not long before he had a roaring fire, placed in a hollow between several large rocks. He crouched down to warm and dry himself, and in this attitude fell asleep.

When Dave awoke the brightness of day was on him and he sprang up in dismay, fearing he had overslept himself. “Perhaps Sam had passed this way already,” was his instant thought and he lost no time in getting back to the river. But nobody was in sight, and once more he tramped on whence he had come the day before. He was now tremendously hungry, without any food with which to satisfy the cravings of his stomach.

“If I don’t find Sam by dinner time I’ll throw a line into the river and go fishing,” he told himself, but just then he contented himself with a drink of water.

On and on he tramped, through the forest and brushwood, and across small streams and bits of marshland. His sleep had rested him thoroughly and he made rapid progress.

When a turn of the river brought him in sight of the spot where he had first seen the Indians, he halted to reconnoitre. But not a single red man was anywhere in the vicinity, and satisfied of this, he pushed forward faster than ever, until he gained the fording place where all the trouble had originated.

“Dave! By all thet’s lucky! Wall now, but ain’t I downright glad to see ye ag’in!” came suddenly from a clump of nearby brush, and Sam Barringford ran toward the youth. “Are ye hurt at all?”

“No, I’m all right,” was the equally joyful answer. “And what of you? Did the Indians molest you?”

“Not a bit of it. They know me, and the minit they sot eyes on me they took their game and slid out on the double-quick. But tell me, where have ye been and why didn’t ye come after me, when I sot out after the runaway hoss?”

“I didn’t know you went after a runaway horse, Sam,” returned Dave, and told the story of his remarkable experience on the river. “As soon as I passed the Indians I didn’t think of anything but to save myself from drowning.”

“To be sure,—I see how it was now. Wall, I had a long chase after the runaway and when I got back it was almost dark. Then I spotted the redskins and they spotted me. They were a crowd I met once over to Frazier’s trading-post and they knew me thoroughly. They got out, as I said afore, on the double-quick, and I don’t know where they went to. I thought fust of hunting for you in the dark, but knew thet wouldn’t do, so I squatted to wait for daylight. I’ve been around a good bit sense then and jest came back to make certain the hosses was safe.”

“Do you know anything of my horse? I lost him in the river just as he struck a rock.”

“He got out and came back, and he’s all right excepting for a cut on his foreleg and another on his head. It’s a wonder he didn’t kick ye to death. Had any dinner?”

“Dinner? I haven’t had last night’s supper yet.”

“Golly-whoppers! Ye don’t mean it? Come right on and I’ll fix ye something in a jiffy. Ye must be hollow clean down to the boots!” And Sam Barringford bustled off to his temporary camp, but a few rods away. With a heart that now felt as light as a feather, Dave followed. He was glad enough to fling himself in the long grass and lazily watch the old hunter bustle around, and doubly glad to partake of the hot coffee and broiled birds and corn cakes which his companion provided. Never had a feast tasted better to him.

“The Indians took the deer I shot I suppose,” said Dave, while eating. “Well, I can be thankful that they didn’t take me instead.”

The youth was glad enough to get back in the saddle again, for his feet were still sore from the climbing of the canyon rocks. They pushed on directly he had finished his meal, and they did not halt again until night was once more on them. Their course was now directly for the Kinotah and Barringford calculated that they would strike one branch of that stream by the afternoon of the next day.

The character of the country remained the same—tall trees, heavy underbrush and vines, and high grass. In spots the trail was almost wiped out, while at other places it became so divided Barringford was almost at a loss which division to follow. Once they crossed a stream where there was a fine beaver dam and from a distance saw the active creatures at work. When the beavers saw they were discovered they lost no time in disappearing, so neither Dave nor Barringford got a shot at them.

The weather remained fine and it was a most glorious sunset in which Dave first beheld the rolling Kinotah, at a point fifty or sixty miles from where James Morris had erected his trading-post. Along the river ran a well-worn trail and many evidences showed that they were in a favorite hunting ground of the Indians.

“Nancoke ain’t far away—we might as well make for it,” said Barringford, and they did. Soon the Indian wigwams came into sight, stretched along the river bank, and a pack of lean and hungry looking Indian dogs came out to greet them, barking furiously. Several children and squaws followed, and then an old chief, Eagle Plume by name, came after.

“The white men are welcome to Nancoke,” said Eagle Plume, after listening to what they had to say. “Eagle Plume knows the white trader of the Kinotah well and is his friend. Remain with us over night and be at rest.”

They entered the Indian village and Eagle Plume ordered some of the boys to drive off the dogs. Dave and Barringford were led to the old chief’s wigwam, the largest in the village, made of poles twenty to twenty-five feet long and covered with the skins of wild animals, all curiously decorated with Indian symbols. Within some fancy mats lay upon the ground, and a small fire was burning to drive away the chill. Eagle Plume’s squaw was present and also his two daughters, Indian maidens who were by no means bad looking. All of the women folks had been making fish baskets, but the work was now laid aside in order that they might prepare the evening meal.

“I declare, it’s quite home-like after all,” was Dave’s comment, when he got the chance to speak to Barringford privately. “I had no idea the Indians lived so comfortably.”

“There are some lodges a heap finer nor this,” answered the old hunter. “Why, thet of Tanacharisson the Seneca half-king is a reg’lar palace under animal skins. His beds are made of the finest furs ye ever sot eyes on, and his cloak has got feathers on it wuth a fortune.”

The warriors of the tribe were all off on a hunt and Eagle Plume said he did not expect them back for several sleeps, meaning, of course, so many days, for the Indians reckoned their time largely by sleeps, moons, and winters.

With the warriors gone the boys and girls had matters very much their own way, for Eagle Plume was too old to remonstrate with them, and the squaws rarely interfered. This was the first time Dave had seen Indian children at play and he was much interested.

One crowd was playing ring toss, very much as it is played to-day. A stake was driven in the ground and several circles were marked around it. The hoops, to be thrown over the stake or within one or another of the circles, were made of willow withes, tightly interwoven. When a hoop went over the stake the thrower would give a yell of delight, and would make a mark for himself or herself in a square on the ground.

But the main game was one of war, because the Indian’s real life was made up largely of strife with the white man and with other Indians. To-day when small boys see a big parade they soon after form a soldier company of their own, and when they go to a circus they end up by giving a show in the back yard. So these Indian boys and girls separated into two parties, one to hide in the brush and behind the trees and the other to go on the warpath and surprise them. As Dave witnessed it, the surprise was really a thrilling one, and the fighting and shrieking more than half real. Yet despite the roughness of this sport nobody complained, although before the battle was over some of the smaller warriors withdrew to play another game, which consisted of leaping over a number of sticks laid down like the rungs of a ladder, and which was called “Let the Snakes Alone.” First the crowd would leap over the sticks, then hop over them with one foot, next the other foot, and then backward. If a player kicked a stick out of position he or she was out of the game, and the last person left in the game was the winner.