With a nod to the girl that he understood and was ready to start, he jumped quickly to the level surface of the rocks above, took her hand and helped her down to the ledge. From there they set out through the rapidly gathering darkness. An hour later, without mishap, they pushed their way through the pines to the edge of a wide stream, where, sure enough, they found the boat. Hurriedly, Dick made ready for his departure. Arctic night had fallen. Above them, through a rift in the heavy clouds, a few faint stars were visible.
He turned for a last look at the little Indian girl who had brought him there. A few yards away she proceeded through the pines and presently her dark silhouette became lost to view. With a slight constriction of the throat, Dick swung about and pushed off, his pulses quickening again at the thought of the danger which might lay ahead. In two hours he had floated along the swift current and had entered a narrow arm of the sea.
Thus far he had drifted leisurely along, every sense alert, endeavoring to make as little noise as possible. If he could negotiate a mile or two from shore he would feel comparatively safe. After that there was little likelihood that the outlaws would ever overtake him. Paddling north, he would enter the inlet. He hoped he would arrive in time to warn Corporal Rand and Toma.
As the minutes went by, hope grew in his breast. Conditions, he perceived, were ideal for his escape—almost complete darkness and a stretch of smooth water ahead. Every little while he paused to look around in apprehension. Once, with a quick start, he thought he had heard something. Paddle raised, he permitted the boat to drift for a moment or two, panic in his heart. But the sound was not repeated.
Pursuit, he felt, would come from behind; the outlaws might secure boats somewhere and attempt to overtake him. Looking for pursuit from the shore, he was wholly unprepared for what actually happened. A little later, just as he had begun to believe that he was out of danger, unexpectedly through the velvety gloom that had settled about him, ahead—not behind—there loomed a shape, a dark smear across his troubled vision.
It was so close that escape seemed absolutely out of the question. Notwithstanding this, Dick turned and started back. Frantically his paddle cut the water for ten or fifteen yards, then a guttural voice rang out and immediately the night became a medley of sound; rifles cracked forth, oars splashed, vivid spurts of red flame flashed through the dark, while all around him the water hissed and sputtered where struck the lead from Murky’s murderous crew.
A bullet whistled close to his ear. Another tore through the loose sleeve of his coat. At this juncture, he dropped his paddle, and, in an effort to retrieve it, nearly capsized. As he came back to a sitting position, his craft rocking perilously, a small piece of wood, torn from the side of the boat, struck him full in the mouth. Dazed, he put up one hand to his face, feeling the warm blood trickling down through his fingers.
In desperation, Dick abandoned all hope of escape, deciding to sell his life as dearly as possible. Revolver in hand, he crouched in the stem. The outlaws’ boat was closer now, sweeping down upon him at top speed. He had barely time to empty his revolver at the oncoming craft before it crashed into him. They had deliberately run him down. He was in the icy water now, coughing, choking, attempting to dodge the bullets of the half-breeds by diving under the surface.
It would be more difficult to see him now. He would fight to the last. Thank God, he could swim!