“Do you suspect anything wrong, my pious friend,” I questioned curiously, “that you indulge in such sniffing of the air?”

“’Tis a spot I know well, now it looms fairly into view,” he answered solemnly, continuing to peer about like one suddenly aroused from sleep.  “It was near here the Philistines made camp as I passed down the river, but I perceive no signs now of human presence in the neighborhood.”

His words startled me, and I began looking anxiously about us.  The low shores consisted of the merest bog, overgrown heavily with stunted bushes and brown cane, but some distance beyond rose the crest of a pine forest, evidencing firmer soil.  The opposite side of the stream was no whit more inviting, except that the marsh appeared less in extent, with a few outcropping rocks visible, one rising sheer from the water’s edge, so crowded with bushes as scarcely to expose the rock surface to the eye.

“I discover no evidences of life,” I answered at last, reassured by my careful survey.  “Nor, for the matter of that, Master Cairnes, can I see any spot dry enough to camp upon.”

“Up the stream a few strokes the Spaniards had camp; not so bad a place, either, when once reached, although the current will prove difficult to overcome as we turn.”

Following his guidance we deflected the boat’s head, and, by hard toil at the oars, slowly effected a passage up the swift stream, keeping as close as possible along the southern shore, until, having compassed something like five hundred yards, we found before us a low-lying bank, protected by rushes, dry and thickly carpeted with grass.

“What is the stream?” I questioned, marvelling at the red tinge of the water.

“The Spaniards named it the Arkansas.”

“Oh, ay!  I remember, although I passed this way along the other shore.  It was here some of La Salle’s men made settlement near a hundred years ago, I ’m told.  The stream has trend northward.”

“So the Spaniards claimed to my questioning; they knew little of its upper waters, yet possessed a map placing its source a few leagues from where the Ohio joins the great river.  It was yonder they were encamped when I was here before.”

He pointed toward a ridge of higher ground, where two trees hung like sentinels above the bank.  Madame immediately turned the prow that way, and, bending our heads low, we shot beneath their trailing branches, grounding softly on the red clay of the bank.  A brief search disclosed remains of camp-fires, testimony to the Puritan’s remembrance of the spot.  Evidently the place had been frequently occupied, and by sizable parties, yet the marks were all ancient; we discovered no signs that any one had been there lately.