Dropping upon my hands and knees, I crept hastily from the knoll into the undergrowth below, and made my way hurriedly but noiselessly to the stream. I could not have been over a minute in so doing, but when I reached the water, and peered through the bushes, not a trace of the canoe was visible. I looked closely into each shore, up and down the stream, everywhere that I could look, but could not detect the slightest ripple or movement to account for this mysterious disappearance. For over an hour I waited in the hope that the canoe would reappear, but I saw nothing more of it. CHAPTER V. CONVERSATIONS AND PLANS. The disappearance of the canoe, although singular in itself, had nothing supernatural about it. The shrubbery, which overhung the water on either shore, offered a secure and impenetrable hiding-place, and a few dexterous, vigorous strokes of the paddles were all that was needed to send it beneath their shadows. That this had been done, was plainly evident. Yet why had it been done? What motive was there for concealment? And why, if apprehensive of danger, had the Indians waited till they were in its vicinity? These and numerous questions, I asked myself, as I carefully retraced my steps down-stream again. The whole proceeding was mysterious to me. I had, doubtless, exposed myself while watching the canoe and its occupants, and thus betrayed to an enemy our presence in their country. What would result from this, I could not conjecture, and determined to make everything known to the trapper. But then I felt somewhat fearful of this. He would, doubtless, be incensed at my imprudent thoughtlessness, which might compel him to leave a country offering such inducements to the trapper and fur-trade; and I argued it was not certain that I had really been seen by the Indians in question. If they meditated hostility, Biddon would be warned soon enough for all purposes--and so I decided to keep my own secret for the present. But the question which occupied my thoughts, almost to the exclusion of everything else, was the identity of the female in the canoe. What could bring a white maiden to these wild regions of the northwest? What meant her appearance in the canoe with two savage Indian warriors? What if she was the child which Biddon had referred to, as being captured upon the night of the massacre? This thought intensified the interest I already felt in her. I believed _she_ had seen me; and her silent look toward the shore had something more than curiosity in it. I imagined there was a mute, eloquent appeal in those dark eyes. Still ruminating upon this all-absorbing theme, I reached the tree, and, stooping upon my hands and knees, crawled within it. The movement had well-nigh cost me my life. As my head entered, I encountered the alarmed visages of Nat and Biddon--the latter with his knife drawn, and just preparing to spring upon me.