“Hide I Why, they could find us in the forest, as I would find a man in an open field.”

“I don’t mean hide here,” said Henry; “the river is just ahead, and I think that if we reach it in time we can find a place.  Come, Paul, we must run as we never ran before.”

The two boys sped with long, swift bounds through the forest as only those who run for their lives can run.  Now the voices of the pursuit became frequent, and began to multiply.  Henry, with his instinctive skill in the forest, read their meaning.  The pursuers were sure of triumph.  But Henry shut his lips tightly, and resolved that he and Paul should yet elude them.

“The river is not more than a half mile ahead,” he said.  “Come, Paul, faster!  A little faster, if you can!”

Paul obeyed, and the two, bending their heads lower, sped on with astonishing speed.  Trees and bushes slid behind them.  Before them appeared a blue streak, that broadened swiftly and became a river.

“We must not let them see us,” said Henry.  “Bend as low as you can, and be as quiet as you can!”

Paul obeyed, and in a few more minutes they were at the river’s edge.

“Fasten your bullets and powder around your neck,” said Henry, “and keep the rifle on your shoulder.”

Paul did so, following Henry’s quick example, and the two stepped into the water, which soon reached to their waists.  Henry had been along this river before, and at this crisis in the lives of his comrade and himself he remembered.  Dense woods lined both banks of the stream, which was narrow here for miles, and a year or two before a hurricane had cut down the trees as a reaper mows the wheat.  The surface of the water was covered with fallen trunks and boughs, and for a half mile at least they had become matted together like a great raft, out of which grass and weeds already were growing.  But Paul did not know it, and suddenly he stopped.

“Why, what has become of the river?” he exclaimed, pointing ahead.

The stream seemed to stop against a bank of logs and foliage.

Henry laughed softly.

“It is the great natural raft,” he said.  “There is where we are to hide.”

He hastened his steps, wading as rapidly as he could, and Paul kept by his side.  He comprehended Henry’s plan, their last and desperate chance.  In a few moments more they were at the great raft, and in the bank, amid a dense, almost impenetrable mass of foliage, they hid their rifles and ammunition.  Henry uttered a deep sigh as he did it.

“I hate like everything to leave them,” he said, “but if we come to close quarters with any of those fellows, we must trust to our knives and hatchets.”

Then he turned reluctantly away.  It was not a deep river, nowhere above their necks, and he pushed a way amid the trees and foliage that were packed upon the surface, Paul, as usual, following closely.  Now and then he dived under a big log, and came up on the other side, his head well hidden among upthrust boughs and among the weeds and grass that had grown in the soil formed by the silt of the river.  And Paul always carefully imitated him.