Then they heard a burst of firing behind them, and a smile of saturnine triumph spread slowly but completely over the face of Shif'less Sol.
"They're shootin' at the place whar we wuz, an' whar we ain't now," he whispered to Henry.
"Yes," Henry whispered back, "they haven't found out yet that we've left, but they are likely to do it pretty soon.

I hope now that this fog will hang on just as thick as it can.

Start up again, boys." "'Twould be funny," whispered Sol, "ef the savages should find us an' chase us right into the bosoms o' the Spaniards." "Yes," replied Henry, "and for that reason I think we'd better bend around a circle and then go up stream.

I'll tell Paul to steer that way." They went on again, creeping through the white darkness; fifty yards or so at a time, and then a pause to listen.

Henry judged that they were about a half mile from their original anchorage, when the solemn note of an owl arose, to be answered by a similar note from another point.
"They've discovered our departure," he whispered, "and they're telling it to each other.