Howsumever, I heard last trip thet he'd been
tryin' some of his tricks round Fort Henry, an' thet Wetzel is on
his trail. Wal, if it's so thet Lew Wetzel is arter him, I wouldn't
give a pinch o' powder fer the white-redskin's chances of a long
life."
No one spoke, and Jeff, after knocking the ashes from his pipe, went
down to the raft, returning shortly afterward with his blanket. This
he laid down and rolled himself in it. Presently from under his
coon-skin cap came the words:
"Wal, I've turned in, an' I advise ye all to do the same."
All save Joe and Nell acted on Jeff's suggestion. For a long time
the young couple sat close together on the bank, gazing at the
moonlight on the river.
The night was perfect. A cool wind fanned the dying embers of the
fire and softly stirred the leaves. Earlier in the evening a single
frog had voiced his protest against the loneliness; but now his
dismal croak was no longer heard. A snipe, belated in his feeding,
ran along the sandy shore uttering his tweet-tweet, and his little
cry, breaking in so softly on the silence, seemed only to make more
deeply felt the great vast stillness of the night.
Joe's arm was around Nell. She had demurred at first, but he gave no
heed to her slight resistance, and finally her head rested against
his shoulder.
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