MEETING AN INDIAN. 345 



backing out from a mass of lily-pads and rushes too 



dense to allow us to pass through, and now winding 



slowly along the narrow devious channel, we kept 



slowly on, expecting every moment to hear the tread of 



a deer moving about in the water, or catch the fiery 



gleam of his eyes as he stood spell-bound by the light. 



We had paddled in this way for a full hour, when the 



guide whispered, " It's strange, I declare, there are no 



deer here." We had nearly reached the end of the 



" slue," where the tall fir trees that hemmed us in and 



bent over us, made a gloom like that of a cavern, and 



I was just about to whisper to "Chet" that we had 



better turn about, when I heard a low, human cough. 



The scream of a panther or the howl of a wolf would 



not have sounded half so strange in that place and at 



that hour. Had there been a jack-light, I, of course, 



should have known that it was some hunter on the same 



beat with ourselves. " Chet" said nothing, but he was 



evidently a little startled, for he instantly wheeled the 



boat about. I strained my eyes in every direction to 



pierce the gloom that lay beyond the bright glare of 



our "jack," but for a long time in vain. At length I 



thought I saw something like a shadow creeping along 



the shore, which was overhung with trees. It kept 



15* 



