“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“Why, we’ll go to Detroit, thence east. I shall enter the army, probably; but build no hopes on my words; they’re poor foundations, girl. You shall never leave me until the hand of death falls heavily on one or both of us. I swear it by all that is good and bad! It is the oath of Zebulon Strong, and he is a desperate man. There—girl, what do you see?”
A strange light had suddenly flashed in Huldah’s eyes, and quickly the traitor turned his head and looked up the river.
A boat containing three men was bearing down upon him!
An oath shot from his throat as he turned again.
“By the eternal world! I’ve seen them in time!” he said, “and they might as well turn back, for they can’t catch Zeb Strong.”
Relinquishing the oars for a moment, he doffed his coat and the next minute the canoe was flying down the stream like an arrow.
The figures in the pursuing boat were seen to spring to the oars with new life, and the race soon became one of the most exciting character. Captain Strong possessed the strength of a giant in his iron frame, and his oars lashed the waves into foam, as he drove the boat toward his goal, lake Erie, distant many miles.
“You needn’t pray for their success,” he cried, looking up into Huldah’s wishful, hopeful face, “for they can’t catch us! It’s impossible. Your father gave me a splendid boat with oars that can not break. By heavens! with this canoe I could shoot the fury rapids of perdition. With these sticks—”