“The river!” said Daniel Poe, and he shut his teeth hard.

All the men and the Amazons drew a long, deep breath, like a sigh; but they said nothing, and continued to march steadily forward.  The river broadened, the blue of its waters deepened, and from the high ground on which they marched they could see the low banks on the farther shore, crowned by clustering thickets.

Three men emerged from the undergrowth.  They were Tom Ross, Shif’less Sol, and Long Jim Hart.  The shiftless one looked lazy and careless, and Jim Hart, stretching himself, looked longer and thinner than ever.

“We found it, Henry,” said Ross.  “Little more’n a mile to the south, men wadin’ to the waist kin cross.”

“Good!” said Henry.  “We’re lucky!”

He began to give rapid, incisive commands, and everyone obeyed as a matter of course, and without jealousy.  Daniel Poe was the leader of the wagon train, but Henry Ware, whom they had known but a few days, was its leader in battle.

“Take fifty men,” he said to Ross, “the best marksmen and the stanchest fighters, and cross there.  Then come silently among the thickets up the bank, to strike them when they strike us.”

Paul listened with admiration.  He knew Henry’s genius for battle, and, like the others, he was inspired by his comrade’s confidence.  The fifty men were quickly told off behind the wagons, and, headed by Tom Ross and Jim Hart, they disappeared at once in the woods.  Shif’less Sol remained with Henry and Paul.

“Now, forward!” said Henry Ware, and the terrible, grim march was begun again.  There was the river, growing broader and broader and bluer and bluer as they came closer.  The children and women—­except the Amazons—­saw nothing because they were crouched upon the floors of the wagon beds, but the drivers, every one of whom had a rifle lying upon the seat beside him, were at that moment the bravest of them all, because they faced the greatest danger.

“Slowly!” said Henry, to the leading wagons.  “We must give Sol and his men time for their circuit.”

He noted with deep joy that the ford was wide.  At least five wagons could enter it abreast, and he made them advance in five close lines.

“When you reach the water,” he said to the drivers, “lie down behind the front of the wagon beds, and drive any way you can.  Now, Sol, you and I and Dick Salter must rouse them from the thickets.”

The three crept forward, and looked at the peaceful river under the peaceful sky.  So far as the ordinary eye could see, there was no human being on its shores.  The bushes waved a little in the gentle wind, and the water broke in brilliant bubbles on the shallows.

But Henry Ware’s eyes were not ordinary.  There was not a keener pair on the continent, and among the thickets on the farther bank he saw a stir that was not natural.  The wind blew north, and now and then a bush would bend a little toward the south.  He crept closer, and at last he saw a coppery face here and there, and savage, gleaming eyes staring through the bushes.