The two dropped their rifles, and again seized the oars, and Haldidge sheered it abruptly up stream, for he fancied they had turned in that direction. He bent his head forward, expecting each moment to see the forms of their enemies loom up to view in the mist, but he was mistaken; no savages greeted his anxious vision. He guided his boat in every direction—across the stream—up and down, but all to no purpose. They had surely lost their prey this time. The Indians had undoubtedly heard the pursuers—had muffled their own oars, and so proceeded as silently as their pursuers.
“Hold a minute!” commanded Haldidge.
As they rested, they listened deeply and intently.
“Do you hear any thing?” he asked, leaning breathlessly forward. “There! listen again.”
They could distinguish the ripple of water, growing fainter and fainter, each minute.
“They are below us again, and now for a trial of speed.”
The two needed no more incentives, and for a time the canoe skimmed over the water with astonishing speed. The moon was now up, and there were patches in the stream, where the wind had blown away the fog, and being exposed to the light, were as clear as midday. Now and then they crossed such spots, sometimes but a few feet wide, and at others, several rods. At these times the shore on either hand were perfectly outlined, and they glided over them with a sort of instinctive terror, as they felt how easily an enemy might be concealed.
In crossing one of these, broader than usual, a glimpse of the Indian canoe showed itself, just disappearing upon the opposite side. They were not more than a hundred yards apart, and they bounded toward it with great rapidity. The patches of light became more frequent, and the fog was evidently disappearing. Quite a breeze had arisen, which was fast sweeping it away. Haldidge kept close into the eastern shore, feeling sure that their enemies would land upon this side.
Suddenly the whole mist lifted from the surface of the water in a volume, and rolled off into the woods. The bright moon was reflected a long distance, and the pursuers gazed searchingly about, fully expecting to see their enemies not a dozen rods away. But they were again doomed to disappointment. Not a ripple disturbed the waters, except their own canoe. The moon was directly overhead, so that there was not a shadow cast along the banks, sufficient to conceal the slightest object. The Indians had evidently landed, and were far distant in the forest.
“It is no use,” remarked Haverland, gloomily, “they are gone, and we might as well be—too.”