The canoe was returning now. It sped back toward the landing and, a short time later breasting the current, shot inshore, coming to a full stop next to the other craft. Rand’s voice rang out sharply:
“Toma, we’ll wait here while you run up to the post to get a change of clothes. While you’re up there, you’d better procure another revolver from Mr. Scott and a box of ammunition. It’s poor policy to take a chance with wet cartridges.”
Toma grinned as he stepped ashore. “All right, Corporal, I go hurry.”
In a moment more he had sped away through the crowd, the object of admiration and respect on the part of the half score of Indians and half-breeds that thronged the landing wharf.
“Pretty close call,” Rand looked over at Dick. “Took me wholly unawares. Keep my eyes open next time.”
“Weren’t you afraid for a time?” Dick asked.
“Afraid of what?”
“That Toma would use that knife,” Dick answered.
“No, not in the least. He’d given me his promise. I was sure he wouldn’t attack Mekewai unless it was to prevent him from escaping. As a matter of fact, he held the prisoner for nearly twenty seconds there in mid-stream until we arrived. If it hadn’t been for him, I fully believe that Mekewai would have contrived to reach the opposite shore. A splendid swimmer.”
“But not as good as Toma,” Sandy pointed out.