Then he remembered, and his heart leaped up.  The river was a mile wide, and the boat was keeping near the middle of the stream.  No bullet from the savages could reach it.  Then what was the use of this ambush?  It had merely been a chance hope of the savages that the boat would come near enough for them to fire into it, but instead it would go steadily on!  Paul looked exultantly at the two warriors beside him, but they were intently watching the boat, which would soon be opposite them.

Then a ghastly and horrible thing occurred.  A white face suddenly appeared upon the shore in front of Paul—­the face of a white youth whom he knew.  The figure was in rags, the clothing torn and tattered by thorns and bushes, and the hair hung in wild locks about the white face.  Face and figure alike were the picture of desolation and despair.

The white youth staggered to the very edge of the water, and, lifting up a tremulous, weeping voice, cried out to those on the boat: 

“Save me!  Save me!  In God’s name, save me!  Don’t leave me here to starve in these dark woods!”

It was a sight to move all on the boat who saw and heard—­this spectacle of the worn wanderer, alone in that vast wilderness, appealing to unexpected rescue.  Fear, agony, and despair alike were expressed in the tones of Braxton Wyatt’s voice, which carried far over the yellow stream and was heard distinctly by the emigrants.  To hear was also to heed, and the great flatboat, coming about awkwardly and sluggishly, turned her square prow toward the southern shore, where the refugee stood.

Braxton Wyatt never ceased to cry out for help.  His voice now ran the gamut of entreaty, hope, despair, and then hope again.  He called upon them by all sacred names to help him, and he also called down blessings upon them as the big boat bore steadily toward the land where two score fierce savages lay among the bushes, ready to slay the moment they came within reach.

Paul was dazed at first by what he saw and heard.  He could not believe that it was Braxton Wyatt who was doing this terrible and treacherous thing.  He rubbed away what he thought might be a deceptive film before his eyes, but it was still Braxton Wyatt.  It was the face of the youth whom he had known so long, and it was his voice that begged and blessed.  And there, too, came the boat, not thirty yards from the land now!  In two more minutes it would be at the bank, and its decks were crowded now with men, women, and children, regarding with curiosity and pity alike this lone wanderer in the wilderness whom they had found in such a terrible case.  Paul heard around him a rustling like that of coiled snakes, the slight movement of the savages preparing to spring.  The boat was only ten yards from the shore!  Now the film passed away from his eyes, and his dazed brain cleared.  He sprang up to his full height, reckless of his own life, and shouted in a voice that was heard far over the yellow waters: