As the Pathfinder, in several instances, was compelled to wade in
water which rose nearly to his arms, while he kept his rifle and
ammunition elevated above the raging current, the toil soon fatigued
him, and he was glad to stop at a large stone, or a small rock,
which rose so high above the river that its upper surface was dry.
On this stone he placed his powder-horn, getting behind it himself,
so as to have the advantage of a partial cover for his body. The
western shore was only fifty feet distant, but the quiet, swift,
dark current that glanced through the interval sufficiently showed
that here he would be compelled to swim.

A short cessation in the firing now took place on the part of the
Indians, who gathered about the canoe, and, having found the paddles,
were preparing to cross the river.

"Pathfinder," called a voice from among the bushes, at the point
nearest to the person addressed, on the western shore.

"What would you have, Jasper?"

"Be of good heart -- friends are at hand, and not a single Mingo
shall cross without suffering for his boldness. Had you not better
leave the rifle on the rock, and swim to us before the rascals can
get afloat?"

"A true woodsman never quits his piece while he has any powder
in his horn or a bullet in his pouch. I have not drawn a trigger
this day, Eau-douce, and shouldn't relish the idea of parting with
those reptiles without causing them to remember my name. A little
water will not harm my legs; and I see that blackguard, Arrowhead,