in the river."

It was less than five when they turned into the current of the
Susquehanna, and less than five more when they heard a shout behind
them, and saw at least a dozen canoes following. The canoes were filled
with Indians and Tories, and they had spied the fugitives.

"Keep the women and the children down, Paul," cried Henry.

All knew that Henry and Shif'less Sol were the best shots, and, without
a word, Long Jim and Tom, both powerful and skilled watermen, swung
heavily on the oars, while Henry and Shif'less Sol sat in the rear with
their rifles ready. Mary Newton awoke with a cry at the sound of the
shots, and started to rise, but Paul pushed her down.

"We're on the Susquehanna now, Mrs. Newton," he said, "and we are
pursued. The Indians and Tories have just seen us, but don't be afraid.
The two who are watching there are the best shots in the world."

He looked significantly at Henry and Shif'less Sol, crouching in the
stern of the boat like great warriors from some mighty past, kings of
the forest whom no one could overcome, and her courage came back. The
children, too, had awakened with frightened cries, but she and Paul
quickly soothed them, and, obedient to commands, the four, and Mary
Newton with them, lay flat upon the bottom of the boat, which was now
being sent forward rapidly by Jim Hart and Tom. Paul took up his rifle
and sat in a waiting attitude, either to relieve one of the men at the
oars or to shoot if necessary.

The clear sun made forest and river vivid in its light. The Indians,
after their first cry, made no sound, but so powerful were Long Jim
and Tom that they were gaining but little, although some of the boats
contained six or eight rowers.

As the light grew more intense Henry made out the two white faces in the
first boat. One was that of Braxton Wyatt, and the other, he was quite
sure, belonged to the infamous Walter Butler. Hot anger swept through
all his veins, and the little pulses in his temples began to beat like
trip hammers. Now the picture of Wyoming, the battle, the massacre,
the torture, and Queen Esther wielding her great tomahawk on the bound
captives, grew astonishingly vivid, and it was printed blood red on his
brain. The spirit of anger and defiance, of a desire to taunt those who
had done such things, leaped up in his heart.

"Are you there, Braxton Wyatt?" he called clearly across the intervening
water. "Yes, I see that it is you, murderer of women and ch