Ruth Fielding on the St. Lawrence; Or, The Queer Old Man of the Thousand Islands

by Alice B. Emerson

Up in the Big North Woods Ruth Fielding had seen loons dive and swim (and of all the feathered tribe, loons are the master divers) and she had wondered at the birds’ mastery of the water. But no loon ever seemed more at home in that element than did the Indian chief.

Totantora tore through the water after the escaping motor-boat as though he, too, were propelled by a motor. And his motor was more powerful, in a short race at least, than that driving the launch in which Wonota was held prisoner.

Before the men who had abducted the Osage maiden could get their boat out of the little cove, Totantora reached the stern of it. He rose breast high in the water and clutched the gunwale with one hand. One of the men swung at him with a boathook; but the other picked up his canvas coat and managed to smother the chief’s head and face in it for a minute.

Totantora flung himself backward and dragged the canvas coat out of the man’s hand. Indeed, he came near to dragging the man himself into the water.

The coat did not retard the Indian much. He grabbed it with both hands, spread it abroad, and then plunged with it under the stern of the motor-boat. At once the propeller ceased turning and the boat lost headway. Totantora had fouled the propeller blades with the canvas jacket, and the abductors could not get away.

The Indian lunged for the gunwale of the boat again. One of the men was now attending to the mechanism. The other beat at Totantora’s hands with the boathook.

In a flash the chief let go of the rail with one hand and seized the staff of the implement. One powerful jerk, and he wrenched the boathook from the white man’s grasp. The latter fell sprawling into the bottom of the boat. With a display of muscle-power at which Ruth could not but marvel, Totantora raised himself over the gunwale of the boat and scrambled into it.

The second white man turned on him, but the Indian met him stooping, seized him around the waist, and tossed him, seemingly with scarcely an effort, into the water. The other abductor scrambled forward to get out of his reach. The chief bent for a minute over his daughter, and then Ruth saw that the girl was free and that she stood up, unhurt. It was all over so quickly that it left Ruth breathless.

“Miss Ruth! Miss Ruth!” cried the Indian girl. “I am all right. My father, Chief Totantora, would not let these bad white men carry me away a captive.”

Ruth waved her hand to the younger girl. But she watched the white man who was swimming for the shore. She was not afraid of him—any more than the Indian chief was fearful of the other white man perched in the bow of the motor-boat.