“I’ll run it before you, Jacques. Hurrah! Give way, Harry!” and in spite of a remonstrance from the guide, he shot the canoe ahead, gave vent to another reckless shout, and flew, rather than glided, down the stream. On seeing this the guide held back, so as to give him sufficient time to take the plunge ere he followed. A few strokes brought Charley’s canoe to the brink of the fall, and Harry was just in the act of raising himself in the bow to observe the position of the rocks, when a shout was heard on the bank close beside them. Looking up they beheld an Indian emerge from the forest, fit an arrow to his bow, and discharge it at them. The winged messenger was truly aimed; it whizzed through the air and transfixed Harry Somerville’s left shoulder just at the moment they swept over the fall. The arrow completely incapacitated Harry from using his arm, so that the canoe, instead of being directed into the broad current, took a sudden turn, dashed in among a mass of broken rocks, between which the water foamed with violence, and upset. Here the canoe stuck fast, while its owners stood up to their waists in the water, struggling to set it free—an object which they were the more anxious to accomplish that its stern lay directly in the spot where Jacques would infallibly descend. The next instant their fears were realised. The second canoe glided over the cataract, dashed violently against the first, and upset, leaving Jacques and his man in a similar predicament. By their aid, however, the canoes were more easily righted, and embarking quickly they shot forth again, just as the Indian, who had been obliged to make a détour in order to get within range of their position, reappeared on the banks above, and sent another shaft after them—fortunately, however, without effect.
“This is unfortunate,” muttered Jacques, as the party landed and endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes; “an’ the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a duckin’, an’ the varmint knows that, an’ will be down on us in a twinklin’.”
“But we are four to one,” exclaimed Harry. “Surely we don’t need to fear much from a single enemy.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun. “You’ve had little to do with Injins, that’s plain. You may be sure he’s not alone, an’ the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send us all on a pretty long journey. But we’ve the trees to dodge behind. If I only had one dry charge!” and the disconcerted guide gave a look, half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun.
“Never mind,” cried Charley; “we have our paddles.—But I forgot, Harry, in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow. We must have it examined before doing anything further.”
“Oh, it’s nothing at all—a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel very little pain.”
As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past Jacques’s ear.
“Ah, so soon!” exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if he had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree, he motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they followed somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded Harry step from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly another arrow, which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had brought with them.
From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he was accompanied by eight others; who appeared, however, to be totally unarmed—having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group, and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party, especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was intended.
Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and going up to Charley, exclaimed, “Now, Mister Charles, I’m goin’ to run away, so you’d better come along with me.”