This was a _ruse_, but the Indian fell at once into the trap. After replenishing the fire he started off in a northwesterly direction. As soon as George and Lance were sure that he was out of sight they made off in the opposite direction, and after some hours of trudging through snow and ice they found themselves on the bank of the river. They had hoped to find it frozen over, but, instead, there was only a fringe of ice-cakes along the shores and swirling about in the main channel. Lance looked at George in some discouragement, but George only said, cheerfully: “It is lucky you have the hatchet, Lance. We must make a raft.” The short winter day was nearly done before a rude raft was made, and on it the two embarked. The piercing wind dashed their frail contrivance about, and it was buffeted by the floating ice. The Indian’s gun was lost, but their powder, in an oilskin knapsack, which George carried on his back, escaped wetting, although he himself, as well as Lance, was drenched to the skin. They could not make the opposite shore, but were forced to land on an island, where they spent the night. The hardships told on the older man, and George saw, by the despairing look in Lance’s eyes, that he could do no more that day. Wood, however, was plentiful, and a great fire was made. “Cheer up, Lance!” cried George, when the fire began to blaze; “there is still some dried venison left. You shall sleep to-night, and in the morning the river will be frozen over, and one more day’s march will bring us to civilization.” Lance was deeply mortified at his temporary collapse, but there was no denying it. George had no sleep that night, except about two hours after midnight, when Lance roused of himself. By daylight they were astir, and crossed the river on the ice. Five days afterwards, at a fork in the road twenty miles from Greenway Court, the two parted--Lance to return to Greenway Court, and George to press on to Williamsburg. By that time they had secured horses. “Good-bye, my friend,” said George. “Tell my lord that nothing but the urgency of the case prevented me from giving myself the happiness of seeing him, and that no day has passed since he sent you with me that I have not thanked him in my heart for your company.” A subtile quiver came upon Lance’s rugged face. “Mr. Washington,” he said, “I thank you humbly for what you have said; but mark my words, sir, the time will come, if it is not already here, that my lord will be thankful for every hour that you have spent with him, and proud for every step of advancement he has helped you to.” “I hope so, my friend,” cried George, gayly, and turning to go.