This passage through the woods was, when the size of the bend of the tributary river was considered, a short cut between the landing-places on the two streams; but it was, for all that, a long walk, and it was late in the afternoon when The Talker announced to Chap that they were approaching the bank of the other river. “How do we know that we are going to strike the river at the right place to meet the rascals?” asked Chap. “They may land on the opposite bank, and then we can’t get at them.” “Only one landin’-place ’long here,” said the Indian; “but just where we are goin’ to go. Ketch ’em there. You see. Just wait.” The Indians now called a halt, and after a few words among themselves, The Talker informed Chap that they had determined to remain where they were until after nightfall, because, if the men on the boat caught sight of any of them, they would suspect something, and would not land at all. “Sit down; rest,” said The Talker. “I’ll go see if boat has come along yit.” “I thought it wouldn’t do for you to show yourself,” said Chap, sitting down on a fallen tree-trunk, while the three Indians sat upon the ground. “Ain’t goin’ to look; goin’ to ask,” said The Talker, as he disappeared into a by-path, which Chap had not noticed before. In about half an hour The Talker returned, and, much to Chap’s surprise, he was accompanied by a young white girl, carrying a pail. “This is Mary Brown,” said The Talker. The three Indians then arose, and shook hands with Mary Brown, with whom they seemed to be very well acquainted. The young girl offered Chap her hand, and said, as she put down her pail,-- “I’ve brought you some supper; I’d had you come up to the house, but he tells me,” pointing to The Talker, “that you don’t want to be seen.” “Do you live in these woods?” asked Chap, in amazement. “Yes,” said Mary Brown, “we live about half a mile back thar. ’Tain’t on the river, but it’s on high ground, with a clearin’ ’round it, so that people can be seen pretty plain from the water. He asked me if I’d seed a boat come up to-day, but I’m jist certain none has come up yit, for I’d been sure to see it. I’ve been watchin’ out for father. He’s gone up Indian River. I don’t ’spect him back to-day, but I might as well watch.” The girl took a piece of corn-bread from her pail, and gave it to Chap, and offered him the first choice of a plate of cold fried bacon. Chap was obliged to take this food in his fingers, but he was glad enough to get it, and said nothing about the absence of plates, knives, and forks. “I’ll bring you down some coffee after a while,” said Mary Brown, “but I hadn’t made any fire when that Indian came up to the house.” She gave the rest of the corn-bread and bacon to the Indians, and then came and sat down by Chap. “He tells me,” said she, “that some fellows have stole your boat, and that you’re goin’ to try to take it away from ’em again.”