Читать книгу Trail and Trading Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio онлайн

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“I’m glad we are to—to go by way of the—the river,” he gasped. “I—I can’t run much further!”

The Indians were yelling wildly, and one of them let fly an arrow which whizzed through the bushes at their side. Dave caught his cousin by the arm, to aid him, and an instant later another arrow flew directly between their heads.

“They must see us, Henry. Come, can’t you run just a bit faster?”

“I’ll—I’ll try,” gasped Henry, and gritted his teeth, so great was the pain in his ankle.

The forest now came to an end, but luckily for the youths the river was bordered with thick brushwood. Into this they dove, and in half a minute more reached the point where Dave had left the canoe in readiness for immediate flight.

“It’s gone!” cried the young hunter, in dismay.

“The canoe?” queried his cousin.

“Yes, I left it right here.”

“Then we are lost!”

Sick at heart, they caught each other by the arm and listened. The Indians were close at hand. What was to be done?

“Let us try to trick them!” whispered Dave, and caught up a stone that was handy. He threw it into the water with a splash, and then threw another stone after it. This accomplished, he drew Henry into the bushes, and both made their way down the shore for a good hundred feet, walking in shallow water to conceal the trail.