“He may adopt me, but I’ll never adopt him,” replied Paul sturdily.

But Wyatt only laughed and shrugged his shoulders, after his fashion.

A few days later they reached the Ohio.  It was running bankful, and where Paul saw it the stream was a mile wide, a magnificent river, cutting off the unknown south from the unknown north, and bearing on its yellow bosom silt from lands hundreds of miles away.  The warriors took hidden canoes from the forest at the shore, and Paul thought they would cross at once and continue their journey northward, but they did not do so.  Instead, they dawdled about in the thick forest that clothed the southern bank, and ate more venison and buffalo meat, although they did not kindle any fire.  A day or two passed thus amid glorious sunshine, and Paul still could not understand why they waited.

Meanwhile he still clung tenaciously to his great hope.  He might escape, he might be rescued, and then Henry and he would resume their task which would help so much to save Kentucky.  No matter what happened, Paul would never lose sight of this end.

CHAPTER VIII

AT THE RIVER BANK

The days dragged into a week, and the Shawnees still clung to the banks of the great river, occasionally hunting, but more often idling away their time in the deep woods near the shore.  Paul’s wonder at their actions increased.  He could not see any purpose in it, and he spoke several times to Braxton Wyatt about it.  But Wyatt always shrugged his shoulders.

“I do not know,” he said.  “It is true they build no camp fires, at least no big ones, and they do not seem to be much interested in hunting; but I cannot guess what they are about, and I should not dare to ask Red Eagle.”

Paul noticed that Red Eagle himself often went down to the bank of the river, and would watch its surface with the keenest attention.  But Paul observed also that he always looked eastward—­that is, up the stream—­and never down it.

Paul and Wyatt were allowed an increasing amount of liberty, but they were held nevertheless within a ring through which they could not break; Paul was shrewd enough to perceive it, and for the present he made no effort, thinking it a wise thing to appear contented with his situation, or at least to be making the best of it.  Braxton Wyatt commended his policy more than once.

On the morning of the seventh day the chief went down to the bank of the river once more, and began to watch its surface attentively and long, always looking up the stream.  Paul and Braxton Wyatt and some of the warriors stood among the trees, not fifty feet away.  They also could see the surface of the river for a long distance, and Paul’s eyes followed those of the chief, Red Eagle.

The Ohio was a great yellow river, flowing slowly on in its wide channel, the surface breaking into little waves, that crumpled and broke and rose again.  Paul could see the stream for miles, apparently becoming narrower and narrower, until it ended in a yellow thread under the horizon.  Either shore was overhung with heavy forest red with autumn’s touch.  Wild fowl occasionally flew over the current.  It was inexpressibly weird and lonely to Paul, seemingly a silent river flowing on forever through silent shades.