Long Jim Hart looked at the boy.
"You know what that is ?" he said.
"The cry of the whip-poor-will." "The cry of the whip-poor-will, given three times! The signal! The boys are thar, an' we must go fur 'em." "Of course," said Paul.

"Do we need to return to the island for anything ?" "No; we have our rifles an' ammunition with us.

We got to start right now, an' Paul, don't you splash any water with your paddle." Paul understood as well as Jim Hart the need of extreme caution, as the Miamis might be abroad, and he made every stroke steady and sure.

Jim Hart emitted the lonesome cry of the whip-poor-will once in return--signal for signal--and then they cut their way in silence through the dark.
They laid their course, according to agreement, for the drinking place at the mouth of the brook, and Paul's heart beat with relief and gladness.
His comrades had come back, safe and sound.

It did not occur to him that any one of them might have fallen in the venture.