“It’s a mighty poor one,” murmured Gummidge; and as he spoke I heard an hysterical sob from his wife.
“We are not going quite straight,” I called to Moralle. “If we keep on this course we will hit the rocks. A few strokes to the left—”
“I’ll manage that, sir,” the plucky voyageur interrupted.
I glanced over my shoulder, and saw him rise to his knees and begin to paddle. He was not fired on, as I had expected would be the case, so Baptiste and I ventured to lift our heads. As we watched, we held our muskets ready for the shoulder.
The current was bearing us on swiftly. A short distance below, the river narrowed to a couple of hundred feet, and here stretched the line of half-sunken rocks that marked the beginning of the falls. In the very center was a break several yards wide, and straight for this the canoe was now driving. There was no sign of the enemy, and it was difficult to realize that such a deadly peril awaited us.
Bang went a musket, and a puff of bluish smoke curled from the forest on the left. The ball passed over Moralle’s head; he ceased paddling and dropped under cover. Baptiste did the same, but I kept my head up, looking for a chance to return the shot. My attention had just been attracted by a movement between the trees, when Gummidge cried, hoarsely:
“Keep down, Miss Hatherton! That was a mad thing to do!”
I turned around sharply as Gummidge released his hold of Flora, who, I judged, had been exposing herself recklessly. I was startled by her appearance. She looked at me with frightened eyes and parted lips, with a face the hue of ashes.
“Save me!” she gasped. “I saw him! I saw him!”
“Saw who?” I cried.