were ready.

But he was not yet beaten. He called once more upon that last reserve of
strength and courage, and, as he floated upon his back, holding the
rifle just over him, he formed his plan. He must now be quick and strong
in the water, and he could not be either if one hand was always devoted
to the task of keeping the rifle dry. He must make the sacrifice, and he
tied it to his back with a deerskin strap used for that purpose. Then,
submerged to his mouth, he swam slowly toward the waiting canoe.

It was a tremendous relief to use both hands and arms for swimming, and
fresh energy and hope flowed into every vein. It was a thing terrible in
its delicacy and danger that he was trying to do, but he approached it
with a bold heart. He was absolutely noiseless. He made not a single
splash that would attract attention, and he knew that he was not yet
seen. But he could see the warrior, who was high enough above the water
to stand forth from it.

The man was a Wyandot, and to the swimming eyes, so close to the surface
of the river, he seemed very formidable, a heavily-built man, naked to
the waist, with a thick scalp lock standing up almost straight, an alert
face, and the strong curved nose so often a prominent feature of the
Indian. One brown, powerful hand grasped a paddle, with an occasional
gentle movement of which he held the canoe stationary in the stream
against the slow current. A rifle lay across his knees, and Henry knew
that tomahawk and knife were at his belt. He not only seemed to be, but
was a formidable foe.

Henry paused and sank a little deeper in the water, over his mouth, in
fact, breathing only through his nose. He saw that the warrior was wary.
Some stray beams of moonlight fell upon the face and lighted up the
features more distinctly. It was distinctly the face of the savage, the
hunter, a hunter of men. Henry marked the hooked nose, the cruel mouth,
and the questing eyes seeking a victim.

He resumed his slow approach, coming nearer and yet nearer. He could not
be ten yards from the canoe now, and it was strange that the Indian did
not yet see him. His whole body grew cold, but whether from the waters
of the river he did not know. Yet another yard, and he was still unseen.
Still another yard, and then the questing eyes of the Wyandot rested on
the dark object that floated on the surface of the stream. He looked a
second time and knew that the head belonged to some fugitive whom his
brethren