“We have found a canoe that was hidden in a thicket on the river bank,” he cried. “Late is putting it into the water, and will then come to help you carry Master Turnbull. I would take hold, but don’t believe my right arm is strong enough yet.”
“It isn’t,” his comrade said with decision; “but you can carry our guns and other traps.”
Late returned speedily, and slowly he and Ira carried the prisoner to the stream. Fortunately the boat was large enough to carry them all, and embarking, they sailed rapidly down the current, escaping only by a few minutes five horsemen who rode along the river bank in search of them.
One of the riders leaped from his animal and examined the ground near the river carefully.
“What do you make out, captain?” one of his companions asked.
“The fellows found a canoe in those bushes, and, putting the wounded man in it, have gone down the stream,” he replied.
“How long ago?”
“They are not a mile away.”
“Then we can head them off,” his comrade cried. “The river makes a bend a few miles below. By riding straight across the neck we should be able to cut them off.”
“Easily,” was the reply, and when the captain had remounted his horse, all hastened back to the trail. Gaining it, they put spurs to their steeds and galloped off in pursuit of their prey. Three hours later they were near the river again.