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He rose to bathe his stiffened limbs in the river and the motion caused Hemlock to spring to his feet. He glanced at the sky, and remarked that he had slept too long. While Morton bathed, Hemlock busied himself in contriving a scoop of withes and birch bark, with which, standing beneath the fall, he quickly tossed out a number of trout. A flint supplied fire and on the embers the fish as caught were laid to roast, and whether it was so, or was due to his keen appetite, Morton thought they tasted sweeter than when cleaned. With the biscuit in their pouches, though wet, they made a fair breakfast. As they finished, a faint echo of drums and fifes was wafted to them. “We will stay a little while,” said Hemlock, “to let the scouts go back to camp, for they would search the woods again this morning.”

“And what then?” asked Morton.

“We will go back to Perrigo, who is near-by.”

“Would they not fly to Canada after what they did?”

“Indians are like the snake. When it is hunted, it does not fly; it hides. They are waiting for us.”