oat. Surely the shifting light was playing him new
tricks. Apparently it was much farther out in the stream and was
drifting with the current.

Wyatt reproved himself as an unsteady fool. His nerves were shaken, and
in order to restore his calmness he closed his eyes once more. But the
eyes would not stay shut. Will was compelled to yield at last to impulse
and the lids came apart. He was somewhat angry at himself. He did not
wish to look at the boat again, and repeat those foolish illusions, but
he did so nevertheless.

Braxton Wyatt sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm and warning. It was
no trick of fancy. He saw with eyes that did not lie a boat out in the
middle of the stream and every moment going faster with the current. The
power that propelled it was unseen, but Wyatt knew it to be there.

"Fire! Fire!" he shouted to his men. "Somebody is carrying off our
boat!"

Rifles flashed and bullets made the water spout. Two struck the boat
itself, but it moved on with increasing swiftness. Wyatt, Early and the
Indians dashed to the water's edge, but a sharp crack came from the
further shore, and Early fell forward directly into the river. Wyatt and
the Indians shrank back into the bushes where they lay hidden. But the
renegade, with a sort of frightened fascination, watched the water
pulling at the body of his slain comrade, until it was carried away by
the current and floated out of sight. The boat, meanwhile, moved on
until it, too, passed a curve, and was lost from view.

Wyatt recovered his courage and presence of mind, but he sought in vain
to urge the Shawnees in pursuit. Superstition held them in a firm grasp.
It was true that Early had been slain by a bullet, but a mystic power
was taking the boat away. The hand of Manitou was against them and they
would return to the country north of the Ohio. They started at once, and
Wyatt, raging, was compelled to go with them, since he did not dare to
go southward alone.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SHADOWY FIGURE

After Braxton Wyatt and the Indians had fled, their canoe proceeded
steadily up the stream. Henry Ware, with his head only projecting, and
sheltered fully by the boat, swam on. He heard neither shots nor the
sound of men running through the bushes along the bank in pursuit. Nor
did he expect to hear either. He had calculated well the power of hidden
danger and superstition, and, confident of complete victory, he finally
steered the boat toward the fart