CHAPTER III.
THE MEETING.
The sturdy ranger uttered a fierce war-whoop, and struggled through the deep water toward the island.
At the place where he was, the stream was only some twenty feet broad, but, it was swimming deep and quite rapid.
On the other side it was five times as broad, but much more shallow, so that his opponent would have that advantage over him. Still, being on the arc of a circle, the distance to be traversed was much greater, and reduced the chances to evenness.
Simon Kenton leaped into the current, rifle in hand, and sunk over his head in a moment, striking out for the opposite shore with desperate energy. Twice the strong current carried him down, and twice he touched a rock and shoved against it so vigorously that he nearly reached the opposite shore. Each time, the weight of his long rifle ducked his head and nearly strangled him, while the struggle became fiercer than ever.
At last, just as he was passing the end of the island, he caught a friendly bough and dragged himself up to shore with dripping weapons, just as he caught sight of the dark figure of his enemy about the middle of the stream in the shallows, but up to his waist in water.
Simon Kenton uttered the Shawnee war-whoop once more and tore through the brushwood to intercept his foe.
“Now, ye ornary kuss, I’ve got ye, by the holy poker!” he growled savagely, as he stood on the bank above, and leveled his rifle at the other.
Click! fizz! sput!