Picking up the bow and an arrow Joe adjusted the latter with care. Harmony had sunk to the bottom of the canoe, while Long Knife stood upright, trying, by the flare of the torch, to find a suitable landing.
The canoes were now not over a hundred feet apart. With a strong use of the paddle the young pioneer sent his craft thirty or forty feet closer. Then he leaped to the bow and aimed the arrow with all the accuracy at his command.
Whiz! the arrow shot forth, and had the object at which it was aimed not moved at that instant Long Knife would have received the shaft straight under the shoulder blade. But just then the canoe bumped on a part of the bank that was under water, and the Indian pitched slightly forward, which caused the shaft to graze his shoulder and his neck.
“What is the white maiden doing?” he cried in his native tongue, as he grasped the bow of the canoe to keep from going overboard.
Harmony did not answer, for she did not understand the question. But she saw the arrow before it caught the eye of the Indian, and turning to see who fired it, discovered her brother and set up a cry of joy.
“Oh, Joe! Joe! Save me!”
“I will if I can,” he answered, and reached for another arrow.
By this time Long Knife had recovered and was peering forth into the gloom to learn from what point the attack was coming, and how many of the whites were at hand.
It must be admitted that Joe was excited, and his hand trembled somewhat as he adjusted the second arrow and let it fly without stopping to take a careful aim.
But the hand of Providence was in that shot, and Long Knife was taken fairly and squarely in the breast.