Our hero now listened to a
degree that kept his faculty of hearing at a point of painful
attention. The voices and plashes on the water receded, and what was
startling, a sound was heard resembling that which as produced by a
paddle when struck incautiously against the side of a canoe. Was it
then possible that the Chippewa was out, or had the Pottawattamies
one boat that had escaped his attention? The last was not very
probable, as he had several times counted their little fleet, and
was pretty sure of having taken it all to the other side of the
river. The sound of the paddle was repeated, however; then it
occurred to the bee-hunter, that Pigeonswing might be on the scent
for another scalp.
Although the conjecture just mentioned was exceedingly unpleasant to
le Bourdon, the chase of the strange canoe gave him an opportunity
to drag his own light craft ahead, penetrating deeper and deeper
among the wild rice, which now spread itself to a considerable
distance from the shore, and grew so thick as to make it impossible
to get through the waving mass. At length, wearied with his
exertions, and a little uncertain as to his actual position, our
hero paused, listening intently, in order to catch any sounds that
might direct his future movements.
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