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."