The Kings Arrow | Page 2

an Indian of
magnificent physique, and princely bearing, as straight as the trees
around him. His companion, too, was standing in a listening attitude a

few feet away. His keen ears had also caught a sound, and he knew its
meaning. He was a white man, much younger than the Indian, although
from his deeply-bronzed face he might have been mistaken for a native.
He measured up nobly to the other in size and bearing, as well as in
strength, woodland skill, and endurance on the trail.
"Slashers, Pete, eh?" he questioned in a low voice.
"A-ha-ha," was the reply. "No meet 'em, Dane. Too many. We go
round."
Without another word he swung sharply to the right, and led the way to
the water in a wide circle. Cautiously they approached the shore, and
then keeping within the edge of the forest they moved slowly along,
most of the time upon their hands and knees. Occasionally they paused
to listen, but the only sounds they heard were the ones which had first
arrested their attention, although much nearer now.
Presently they stopped and from a thicket of bushes drew forth a birch
canoe, which had been cunningly hidden. It took them but a few
minutes to carry it to the water, step lightly aboard, and push away
from the shore. Each seized a paddle, and soon the canoe was headed
for the open, with Dane squatting forward, and the Indian seated astern.
Less hardy souls would have hesitated ere venturing out upon that
angry stretch of water in such a frail craft. The crooked Kennebacasis
was showing its temper in no uncertain manner. Exposed to the full
rake of the strong westerly wind, the waves were running high, and
breaking into white-caps, threatened to engulf the reeling canoe. But
the Indian was master of the situation, and steered so skilfully that only
an occasional wisp of spray was flung on board.
They had gone about two hundred yards when a shot rang out from the
shore, and a bullet whistled past their heads. Glancing quickly around,
they saw several men in the distance with muskets in their hands. They
were shouting words of defiance to which the canoeists made no reply.
Intuitively Dane reached for his musket, but a sharp warning from the
Indian caused him to desist.

"No shoot," he ordered. "Paddle. Quick."
And in truth there was urgent need, for the canoe had swung somewhat
to the left and was in danger of being swamped by the big waves as
they rolled and tossed their white foamy manes. Another bullet sang by
as Dane drove his paddle into the water and forced the canoe into the
eye of the wind just as a larger wave than usual was about to break. To
attempt to shoot he realised would be useless, although he longed to
have a try at the insulting slashers. But to reach the opposite shore in
safety would require every ounce of strength and utmost skill, so he
bent steadily to his task and paid no further heed to the men upon the
shore.
Ahead lay two islands, separated by a narrow strip of water, and toward
this opening they directed their course. It was a hard fight, and only
men of great strength and thoroughly-developed muscles could have
accomplished the task. Reeling, dipping, lifting, and sliding, the canoe
pressed on, a fragile thing in the grip of an angry monster. But bear up
it did and rode proudly at last into the smooth water between the two
islands. Here the men rested and mopped their moist foreheads.
"Bad blow," the Indian casually remarked.
"Pretty heavy," Dane replied. "I wish the slashers had come after us."
"Slashers, ugh! Cowards! No come. Bimeby me ketch 'em. Me fix 'em,
all sam' skunk."
Dane smiled as he again dipped his paddle into the water.
"Come, Pete, let's get on. There's a nasty run ahead, and it'll take us
over two hours after we land to reach the Fort."
"Plenty rum to-night, eh?" the Indian queried, as he guided the canoe
out into the open.
"Not plenty, remember, Pete. You've got to be careful this time and not
take too much. If there are slashers hanging around the trading post

they'll be only too anxious to get you drunk, and put you out of
business. There's too much at stake to run any risk."
"Umph! me no get drunk," the Indian retorted. "Me no fool. Me no
crazee white man."
It took them almost a half hour to cross to the mainland. Here they
landed, concealed the canoe, and ate a frugal meal of bread and dried
meat. This detained them but a short time, and they then started forth
upon the trail which led along the river not far from