“Shucks!” said Tom, when appealed to, “I’ve seed it afore, and it come all right again.”

Clark’s boat rounded the shoal:  next our turn came, and then the whole line was gliding down the river, the rising roar of the angry waters with which we were soon to grapple coming to us with an added grimness.  And now but a faint rim of light saved us from utter darkness.  Big Bill Cowan, undaunted in war, stared at me with fright written on his face.

“And what ’ll ye think of it, Davy?” he said.

I glanced at the figure of our commander in the boat ahead, and took courage.

“It’s Hamilton’s scalp hanging by a lock,” I answered, pointing to what was left of the sun.  “Soon it will be off, and then we’ll have light again.”

To my surprise he snatched me from the thwart and held me up with a shout, and I saw Colonel Clark turn and look back.

“Davy says the Ha’r Buyer’s sculp hangs by the lock, boys,” he shouted, pointing at the sun.

The word was cried from boat to boat, and we could see the men pointing upwards and laughing.  And then, as the light began to grow, we were in the midst of the tumbling waters, the steersmen straining now right, now left, to keep the prows in the smooth reaches between rock and bar.  We gained the still pools below, the sun came out once more and smiled on the landscape, and the spirits of the men, reviving, burst all bounds.

Thus I earned my reputation as a prophet.

Four days and nights we rowed down the great river, our oars double-manned, for fear that our coming might be heralded to the French towns.  We made our first camp on a green little island at the mouth of the Cherokee, as we then called the Tennessee, and there I set about cooking a turkey for Colonel Clark, which Ray had shot.  Chancing to look up, I saw the Colonel himself watching me.

“How is this, Davy?” said he.  “I hear that you have saved my army for me before we have met the enemy.”

“I did not know it, sir,” I answered.

“Well,” said he, “if you have learned to turn an evil omen into a good sign, you know more than some generals.  What ails you now?”

“There’s a pirogue, sir,” I cried, staring and pointing.

“Where?” said he, alert all at once.  “Here, McChesney, take a crew and put out after them.”

He had scarcely spoken ere Tom and his men were rowing into the sunset, the whole of our little army watching from the bank.  Presently the other boat was seen coming back with ours, and five strange woodsmen stepped ashore, our men pressing around them.  But Clark flew to the spot, the men giving back.

“Who’s the leader here?” he demanded.

A tall man stepped forward.

“I am,” said he, bewildered but defiant.

“Your name?”

“John Duff,” he answered, as though against his will.

“Your business?”

“Hunters,” said Duff; “and I reckon we’re in our rights.”