In Search of an Unknown Race — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

VAN. 45 ‘‘Tf Mist’ Van was alive he'd answer dat for sure,” said Tom. As he spoke, the boat glided so near the hiding place that the tips of one of the lower branches swept its gunwales. Breathlessly, and in an agony of mind almost inde- scribable, Van saw the young Indian’s eye glancing along the straight shaft, the notched end of which was being drawn slowly back. Like a man in a terrible nightmare he could not stir hand, foot, or tongue, to warn his friends of their danger. But the boat moved slowly on, and as the young native relaxed his bowstring Van breathed more freely. ‘‘It’s most dark,” Van heard Bob saying, ‘‘and we must get back to the river bed or run the risk of getting lost in this confounded forest.” And then the voices dwindled to an indistinct mur- mur, and Van felt as though his last hope was gone. As the sounds died away in the distance, the younger of the two Indians rose, and, laying aside the bow and arrow, spoke rapidly to the other, who had replaced the knife in his sash. Then, passing behind the tree trunk, he quickly reap- _ peared, carrying a light canoe which was made from rawhide stretched tightly over a wicker framework, and rendered impervious to the wet by a coating of mastic. This he dropped through the opening, and lowered himself after it. The soft plash of a paddle was heard © and he was gone. His senior, with the same impassivity of face, un- bound the scarf from Van’s face, and unloosed the thongs athis wrists, Then he significantly touched his EOmMiIGcdoOo “S (E(@) im