"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "The rascals had one canoe too many, but to prevent us using it they set it adrift, and the current has landed it across there. I will fetch it."
"No, no!" said Jamie. "I'll fetch it," and, throwing off his hunting shirt, he plunged into the stream, and swam across to where the canoe had gone ashore, jammed between two rocks. He had taken the paddle with him, and he quickly returned in the canoe, which was none the worse for its little adventure, except that there was a small hole in the bow, which the trapper soon repaired.
"There is no time to lose. We must hasten; for unless the Algonquins camp somewhere along the lake, we shall be too late," said the hunter.
The sun had set half-an-hour ago, as they paddled swiftly down stream; but there was still a crimson glow from amongst the pines on the western side of the river. Sometimes they skimmed along with the current without putting in the paddle, the next moment they danced and twisted amongst the rapids; but the trapper piloted the canoe safely amongst the rocks, the eddies and the swirls, ever seeking the most sheltered spots.
Suddenly, a bend in the river revealed to them the opening of the lake, and in another moment they were skimming along its glassy surface, close in-shore. This narrow lake is thirty-five miles long, and from one to three miles broad, and long before they had covered half its length darkness fell, but they slackened not their efforts. They paddled in turn, quietly but swiftly, ever keeping a careful watch lest they should discover the camp-fire of the enemy.
They were approaching a headland that jutted out some little way into the lake, and were scarce a dozen yards from the thick bushes which overhung the bank, when the screech of an owl reached their ears from the shore.
Jamie, who held the paddle, stayed his hand for a moment, and peered into the darkness. A dark shadowy form was standing on a rock at the very edge of the water, with an uplifted hand that indicated danger.
He knew that form and that call too well to hesitate. "It is Swift Arrow," he whispered; and drove the canoe in gently towards the shore.
CHAPTER XIX
THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS