"Paddle for your life!" called Dick, from the stern.
"Yah," said Fritz, "I am alreatty."
They had only gotten about a hundred yards out into the stream when the boys heard an exclamation from the shore. Turning, Dick saw the Indians file out of the woods, and reach the canoes. Two of them started to launch one of the boats, while the others aimed their guns at Dick and Fritz.
"Duck, duck down," called Dick, and as they did so, the rifles of the angry redskins barked out. One bullet splashed in the water near the canoe, and the rest whistled uncomfortably over their heads. The two Indians had gotten one of the damaged canoes into the water, but as they stepped into it, it began to fill through the rent in the bottom.
Dick leaned down, dropped his paddle and took up his rifle.
"Keep on paddling, Fritz," he said, quietly. "I'll take a chance of hitting one of those red fellows."
Dick's rifle cracked, and one of the Redmen gave a cry of pain and surprise, put his hand over his left shoulder, and staggered backwards. The others turned and sought shelter behind rocks while they reloaded their guns, which gave the boys additional time to increase the distance between them.
They were now near the further shore, and when the Indians fired again, their bullets flew wild, leaving the boys unharmed.
"Run right ashore," said Dick. "We'll carry this canoe with us for a ways and launch it again further down stream. The mist is rising, so we've got to hurry if we want to get away from those fellows without being seen."