They wheeled and stared behind them. Around a small jutting ledge an empty canoe was drifting towards them, dancing giddily in the ark’s shining wake. Almost as they looked a shot rang out from a cave that they were passing and John Cutler, one of the oldest men of the crew, lurched into Kenton’s arms.
“Veer off shore,” ordered the captain, quietly. “Steady—the sweeps. MacAfee, stand by ready to catch that canoe. Careful with the oar. Don’t upset the canoe with it. Steady—steady with the sweeps—back water all you can. Shad Lincoln, stand by to help MacAfee.”
“Aren’t we going back to kill the Indian that shot Cutler?” indignantly asked Kenton, as he saw the ark swing away from the shore.
“Not here,”, said the captain. “Too rocky—can’t land. Is John badly wounded? Take him into the cabin. I’ll be in and dress it as soon as we’re by these caves.”
“I’m all right,” said Cutler, raising himself by Kenton’s help. “Better hold right on, Marion. There may be a party—may have fired just to draw us into a trap.” He swayed, and tottered into the cabin.
“We shall go back!” cried Charlie Hoyt, savagely. “Cutler, too, of all of us!”
“We’ll scalp every one we can lay hold of!” added Moses, hotly.
Their blood was boiling. It was all that the young captain could do to preserve order. But his voice was quiet and his tone so commanding that it cowed them. They were crouched under the rail, all excepting those who were obliged to stand exposed at the sweeps, and MacAfee, who was coolly trolling for the dancing canoe. Another shot followed them, but fell short.
“They’re all back there in that cave,” said Lincoln, in his slow, deliberate way. “It must irk them to see you fishin’ for their war canoe and not be able to pot you. Let me take a turn, MacAfee; maybe I can catch it.”
“Let the canoe go,” called Marion. “It’s not worth getting shot for.”