blanket. Only his face was uncovered, and when a cold drop fell
upon it, it was to him, hardened by forest life, cool and
pleasant to the touch.

Although the eyelids still drooped, he did not yet feel the
tendency to sleep. It was merely a deep, luxurious rest, with
the body completely relaxed, but with the senses alert. The wind
ceased to blow, and the rain came down straight with an even beat
that was not unmusical. No other sound was heard in the forest,
as the ripple of the river at the edges was merged into it.
Henry began to feel the desire for sleep by and by, and, laying
the paddle across the boat in such a way that it sheltered his
face, he closed his eyes. In five minutes he would have been
sleeping as soundly as a man in a warm bed under a roof, but with
a quick motion he suddenly put the paddle aside and raised
himself a little in the canoe, while one hand slipped down under
the folds of the blanket to the hammer of his rifle.

His ear had told him in time that there was a new sound on the
river. He heard it faintly above the even beat of the rain, a
soft sound, long and sighing, but regular. He listened, and then
he knew it. It was made by oars, many of them swung in unison,
keeping admirable time.

Henry did not yet feel fear, although it must be a long boat full
of Indian warriors, as it was not likely, that anybody else would
be abroad upon these waters at such a time. He made no attempt
to move. Where he lay it was black as the darkest cave, and his
cool judgment told him that there was no need of flight.