“It may be that _he_ is the one sent by Heaven to lead me through the gate that now shuts out the great wide world. I will yield to the impulse that leads me toward him.” And, at the same time a shy, bashful emotion restrained him from moving away at once. “I will wait and see whether he is fortunate enough to get beyond sight of the lodges without discovery.” And he again crouched down behind the rocks, and with an anxiously beating heart waited to see what the result of this perilous mishap was to be. The strange canoe had something like a half-mile to pass, before a curve in the river would shut it from view of any one who stood upon the shore, where the Blackfoot had shown himself. The probability was that the boy, after getting fairly below the lodges, would work his boat in to shore, so as to get out of the dangerous range as speedily as possible. The little boat kept in the middle of the current, the occupant persistently remaining out of sight, and Little Rifle, after watching it for a few moments, would look directly across the stream, dreading to see the painted Blackfoot issue forth, and repent his survey. Further and further drifted the little boat, until it looked like a duck floating at will upon the water. But, if the Indian sees it, he will recognize it on the instant, and then there will be trouble. The lad does not intend to land, and must remain in view for some time longer. The minutes dragged slowly by, and it appeared as if the tiny vessel remained absolutely stationary upon the surface of the water, although Little Rifle knew that it was still going forward rapidly. At the distance, he could not identify the lad, even if his head was above the gunwale, and our hero was beginning to wonder what his conduct could mean, when he observed that the canoe was gradually edging to one side, as if it were creeping in toward the land. “But it is not,” he added, as he carefully scrutinized it, “it is passing around the bend in the river, and will now be lost to view in a few minutes, and then all danger will be over--Heaven save him!” CHAPTER VII. A FEARFUL ADVENTURE. At this moment, Little Rifle chanced to look across the stream, and instead of one Blackfoot, he saw two come forth from the middle lodge, and sauntering to the edge of the river, pause, and, while gesticulating and conversing earnestly, they first looked up the current, and then down again. “They will see the canoe! they will discover the lad and he will be lost!” was the agonized thought of the little fellow, who, turning his gaze in the same direction, just managed to descry the boat, as it glided out of sight around the bend in the river. The Blackfeet indeed acted as if they had discovered something suspicious; for one of them pointed down-stream, and the other following the direction indicated, seemed to be gazing intently as though his keen vision had detected the same thing.