“I’ll swim after you. Off you go.”
Watching her until she disappeared in the darkness, he stealthily dropped into the water and struck out in the wake of the frail boat. A few minutes later he stood upon the other shore. His garments were dripping and his teeth were chattering from the chill of the water. He looked about him but saw nothing of the canoe or its occupants.
“Amy,” he called softly.
But he received no reply.
“Amy,” he repeated, a little louder than before.
Still no answer.
“What can have become of her?” he muttered in deep vexation and alarm. “She should have landed near this point. Is it possible that the canoe has capsized, or that other harm has befallen her? Ah! she may have lost her paddle—she may be drifting with the current.”
He ran down the stream, peering into the gloom that overhung the water as he went. But he saw nothing of her or of the boat. Many times he called her name, as loudly as he dared. No answering voice came to him. At last he turned and swiftly retraced his steps. He had just reached the point where he had come ashore, when he discovered a dark object drifting a few yards from the beach. It was an empty canoe. In it was his own gun, but no sign of the woman or child.
“Lost—lost!” he groaned, wringing his hands. “Poor Amy!”—And the tears trickled down his cheeks.—“She’s drowned—she and her baby are sleeping at the bottom of the treacherous river.—No! There is no water in the canoe, and my gun is where I placed it. The frail craft did not capsize. Some harm must have befallen her, just as she reached land—ere she could secure the vessel.”