Presently all of them were out of sight; but Henry, a true son of caution and the wilderness, would not yet let Paul stir.

“They will come back this way,” he said.  “We risk nothing by waiting, and we may save much.”

Paul made no protest, but he was growing cold.  The chill from the water of the river was creeping into his veins, and he longed for the dry land and a chance to stir about.  Yet he clenched his teeth and resolved to endure.  He would not move until Henry gave the word.

He saw what a wise precaution it was, when, a half hour later, seven or eight warriors came walking back on the logs, and thrust with sticks into the little patches of open water between them.  Henry and Paul crouched closer in their covert, and the warriors stalked back and forth, still searching.

Henry knew that the Shawnees, failing to find a place beyond the debris where the fugitives had emerged upon the bank, would believe that they might be hidden under the logs, and would not give up the hunt there.  If they should happen to find the rifles and ammunition, they would certainly be confirmed in the conclusion, but so far they had not found them.  Henry, looking between the logs, saw them pass near the place of concealment, but they did not stop, and were soon near the other bank.  It would have bitterly hurt his pride if they had found the rifles, even had he and Paul escaped.

An hour more they waited, and then the last warrior was out of sight, gone up the river.

“I think we may crawl out now,” whispered Henry; “but we’ve still got to be mighty careful about it.”

Pad took a step and fell over in the water.  His legs were stiff with the wet and cold; but Henry dragged him up, and before trying it again he stretched first one leg and then the other, many times.

“We must make our way back through the logs and brush to the rifles,” whispered Henry, “and then take to the woods once more.”

“I think I’ve lived in a river long enough to last me the rest of my life,” Paul said.

Henry laughed.  He, too, was stiff and cold; but, a born woodsman, he now dismissed their long hiding in the water as only an incident.  The two reached the precious rifles and ammunition, drew them forth from concealment, and stepped upon the bank, rivulets pouring from their clothing, and even their hair.

“I think we’d better go back on our own trail now,” said Henry.  “The war party has passed on, and is still looking for us far ahead.”

“We’ve got to dry ourselves, and somehow or other get that powder to Marlowe,” said Paul.

“That’s so,” said Henry.  “We came to do it, and we will do it.”

He spoke with quiet emphasis, but Paul knew that he meant to perform what he had set out to do, come what might, and Paul was willing to go with him through anything.  Neither would abandon the great task of helping to save Kentucky.  But they were still in a most serious position.  They had been many hours in water which was not now warmed by summer heat, and they were bound to feel the effect of it soon in every bone.  Henry glanced up at the heavens.  It was far past noon, and the golden sun was gliding down the western arch.