overhanging trees and bushes afforded him good shelter. He secreted himself as best he could and awaited developments.
The Indians came within a hundred yards of the spot, but no closer, and before nightfall he was left entirely alone. By this time the scraped shin felt better, and he waded out to the lake proper, the water being scarcely up to his knees.
As night drew on, he could see a faint light up the shore, which told him where the Indian camp lay. All around him was silent and deserted, only the occasional cry of a bird breaking the stillness.
Henry felt that he must get some sleep, or he would be unable to undertake the journey toward Oswego in the morning, and with this in view sought out a comfortable spot where he might lie down. Nothing came to disturb him during the night, and by sunrise he arose feeling decidedly refreshed.
A storm was approaching—the same which was to prove so disastrous to the batteaux on the lake, and Henry had not covered many miles along the lake front when it burst on him in all of its fury, causing him to seek shelter under a cliff of rocks some distance away from the water. The lightning was sharp and he heard more than one tree in the forest go down with a crash. But the storm did not
