When he came to the surface, he brought something
with him, which proved to be a canoe. With this he swam to the tree,
where he righted and turned the water from it. A paddle was secured in
it. Taking his seat, the canoe went skimming like a swallow over the
water toward the opposite swamp.
Reaching this, he shot in among the trees, avoiding them with as much
ease and dexterity as would a bird on the wing. Going a hundred yards
in this manner, he arose in his canoe and looked around. A shade of
displeasure crossed his face, apparently of disappointment at not
discovering some person or object for whom he was looking. Waiting a
moment, he placed his thumb on his mouth, and gave utterance to a low,
tremulous whistle, an exact imitation of a bird often found in the
American swamps. A moment later, there came a response exactly the
same, except that it sounded fainter and a considerable distance away.
The moment it caught the ear of the Huron, he reseated himself and
folded his arms in the attitude of patient waiting.
Scarce five minutes had elapsed, when the plash of another paddle was
heard, and a second canoe made its appearance, carefully approaching
that of the Huron. In it was seated an Indian boy, not more than
twelve years of age, who handled it with a skill scarcely second to
that of his father, Oonomoo.
"Niniotan, my son, is late," said the latter, sternly, as the boy came
alongside.
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