When they were about thirty yards into the mass Paul felt Henry’s hand on his shoulder.  “Look back, Paul,” was whispered in his ear, “but be sure not to move a single bough.”  Paul slowly and cautiously turned his head, and saw a sight that made him quiver.

Running swiftly, savage warriors were coming into view on either bank of the river—­tall men, dark with paint, and, as he well knew, hot with the desire to take life.

“I thank God that this place is here!” breathed Paul.

“Yes, it was just made for us,” said Henry, and he laughed ever so little.  “Come, Paul, we must get farther into it.  But be sure you don’t shake any boughs.”

They waded on, only their heads above the current, and these always hidden by the interlacing trunks and branches.  A great shout, fierce with triumph, rose behind them.

“They’ve found where our trail entered the water, and they think they’ve got us,” whispered Henry.  “Now, be still, Paul; we’ll hide here.”

They pushed themselves into a mass of debris, where logs and boughs, swept by the current, formed a little arch over the stream.  There they stood up to their chins in water, with their heads covered by the arch.  Through the slits between the trunks and boughs they could see their pursuers.

It was a numerous band—­thirty or forty men—­and they divided now into several parties.  Some ran along the banks of the stream and others sprang from log to log over the raft, searching everywhere, with keen, black eyes trained to note every movement of the wilderness.

Paul felt Henry’s hand again on his shoulder, but neither boy spoke.  Both felt as if they were in a little cage, with the fiercest of all wild animals around it and reaching long paws through the bars at them.  Each sank a little deeper into the water, barely leaving room to breathe, and watched their enemies still searching, searching everywhere.  They heard the patter of moccasins on the logs, and now and then they saw brown, muscular legs passing by.  Two warriors stopped within ten feet of them and exchanged comment.  Henry, who understood their language, knew that they were puzzled and angry.  But Paul, without knowing a word that they said, understood, too.  His imagination supplied the place of knowledge.  They were full of wrath because they had lost the trail of the two whom they had regarded as certainly theirs, and to seek them in the vast maze of logs and brush was like looking for one dead leaf among the millions.

The two warriors stood still for a full minute, and then moved on out of sight.  Paul drew a deep breath of relief, like a sigh, and Henry’s hand was pressed once more upon his shoulder.

“Not a sound yet, not a sound, Paul!” he whispered ever so softly.  “They will hunt here a long time.”

More warriors, treading on the logs, showed that his caution was not misplaced.  They poked now and then in the water, amid the great mass of debris, and one stood on a log so near to the two lads that they could have reached out and touched his moccasined feet.  But their covert was too close to be suspected, and soon the man passed on.