He hastened his steps, wading as rapidly as he could, and Paul kept by his
side. He comprehended Henry's plan, their last and desperate chance. In a
few moments more they were at the great raft, and in the bank, amid a
dense, almost impenetrable mass of foliage, they hid their rifles and
ammunition. Henry uttered a deep sigh as he did it.

"I hate like everything to leave them," he said, "but if we come to close
quarters with any of those fellows, we must trust to our knives and
hatchets."

Then he turned reluctantly away. It was not a deep river, nowhere above
their necks, and he pushed a way amid the trees and foliage that were
packed upon the surface, Paul, as usual, following closely. Now and then
he dived under a big log, and came up on the other side, his head well
hidden among upthrust boughs and among the weeds and grass that had grown
in the soil formed by the silt of the river. And Paul always carefully
imitated him.

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.