Ned Chadmund's only fear was that the chief would hear the throbbing¹ of his heart. He dared not draw his head into the tree, fearing that the action would attract the notice of the Apache; so he remained as motionless as the trunk of the tree itself, waiting for the danger to pass. Finally, the Indian was heard moving forward again, and the cramped² and aching fugitive³ began to breathe more freely. He could detect that soft rippling⁴ through the water, such as is made by an angler who is hunting some choice place in the brook⁵, and who examines every foot of the water which he passes. At last it was beyond hearing, and all was still again; but our young hero, impatient and anxious as he was to get forward, dared not leave his concealment⁶ while so many of his enemies were in the immediate⁷ neighborhood. He was confident that if he attempted flight and escaped running against some of these dusky wretches⁸, they would speedily detect his trail and run him to the ground. He concluded to remain where he was until dark, when he would make another start, confident that by traveling all night, and taking advantage of all the means that came in his way, he could place a goodly distance between himself and the perilous⁹ neighborhood.  
Nothing more was seen or heard of the Apaches during these long waiting hours, unless the distant report of a gun could be construed¹⁰ as their work, and the summer day gradually wore away. By this time the condition of the boy was truly pitiable. He was thirsty and nearly famished¹¹, feverish¹² from his long abstinence. Yet with water within a few feet of him he refrained, for the reason that he was fearful of imperiling his safety.
 
"I'll wait till it is nearly dark," he said, as he looked down at the cool water flowing beneath; "for this is the only chance I shall ever have of giving them the slip."
 
The time he had fixed¹³ upon to venture forth¹⁴ had not yet arrived when he observed a large tree floating along below him. It had probably become displaced at some point up the stream, and would drift along until it should again catch some obstruction¹⁵, and remain moored¹⁶ for an indefinite time. Yielding to a sudden inspiration, Ned crept hastily out of his concealment, and dropped lightly upon the trunk, which was heavy and buoyant enough to bear his weight without sinking below the surface.
 
The course of the stream was such that this proceeding¹⁷ carried him back directly over the ground that he had passed, and, in case the Apaches were in camp, would take him near it. But there was real woodcraft in this act, imprudent as it seemed; for nothing could be conceived, which, if successful, would more effectually throw the Indians off his trail. Knowing that he had gone northward¹⁸, what inducement could there be for looking toward the south for him? The next thing after getting upon his raft was to stoop over and get a drink from the stream, which, having its source up among the mountains, was cold, clear, and pure.
 
Oh! the refreshing¹⁹ draught²⁰! None but those whose frames have been consumed with flaming fever can appreciate the delicious nectar, the invigorating, permeating²¹ life that lay in that wonderful fluid, which is without smell, taste or color, and to which no other liquid can be compared.
 
"Oh dear!" groaned²² the lad, as he raised his head. "Another drink like that and there'll be nothing left in the creek²³."
 
But thirst satisfied left him with such a tormenting²⁴ sense of hunger that the question of something to eat speedily became paramount²⁵ to all others. He almost ceased to think of Apaches in his wild desire for something with which to satisfy the cravings within.
 
The heavy trunk, covered with a few knotty²⁶ protuberances, kept very nearly in the center of the stream............