The great flooded river broadened until the line of water and
horizon met, and Paul could easily fancy that they were floating on a
boundless sea. An uncommonly red sun was setting and here and there the
bubbles were touched with fire. Far in the west dark shadows were stealing
up.
"Look," Henry suddenly exclaimed, "I think that the Spanish have gone into
camp for the night!"
He pointed down the stream and toward the western shore, where a thin
spire of smoke was rising.
"It's that, certain," said Tom Ross, "an' I guess we'd better make fur
camp, too."
They pulled toward the eastern shore, in order that the river might be
between them and the Spaniards during the night and soon reached a grove
which stood many feet deep in the water. As they passed under the shelter
of the boughs they took another long look toward the spire of smoke.
Henry, who had the keenest eyes of all, was able to make out the dim
outline of boats tied to the bank, and any lingering doubt that the
Spaniards might not be there was dispelled.
"When they start in the morning we'll start, too," said Henry.
Then they pushed their boat further back into the grove. Night was coming
fast. The sun sank in the bosom of the river, the water turned from yellow
to red and then to black, and the earth lay in darkness.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100