We must leave the canoe. Perhaps with none on board but the women it will float.
There was a small rope attached to one end of the canoe held by a toggle. He caught this and jumped into the river, followed by the other four.
Amy saw at a glance that she had it in her power to free herself and escape from the Indians. What could be easier than to pull the toggle and cast the Indians adrift. Then her conscience checked her.
That would drown them, and that would be murder. But life, liberty and self-preservation soon overruled conscience. She pulled the toggle and the Indians were adrift.
Springing to her feet, she applied the paddle, going, where she knew not—cared not—if she could get away from the savages.
Once, and once only, did she look back, and by the lightning’s flash saw them struggling in the rolling swell.
Shell was sitting in his cabin door, smoking his pipe, and listening to the roar of the elements, when a flash of lightning revealed to his view a canoe making its way to the rift of rocks. At the second glance, he saw a person manfully working a paddle.
Zounds! That chap, whoever he is, has got good stuff in him. But I guess he don’t know the points of the compass. That course will carry him on the rocks. He will be drowned, and the canoe dashed to pieces. It is but little Old Shell can do, but I will do that little.
Taking a brand from the fire, he lit a pile of pine knots that was piled on the beach. Suddenly the wind turned to the north east, and this made the situation of the canoe still more dangerous.