They now advanced steadily southward, at a more rapid rate. Ten minutes passed and they heard no alarm. Fifteen minutes and yet there was none. Twenty came, and by now they had reached the mouth of the creek, where it emptied into the swirling Rock River. “Great Scott, look!” exclaimed Ben Gordon, pointing upstream a short way. “Canoes!” cried Stillman, utmost joy in his tone. “Yep, Injun canoes!” added the boy, gleefully eyeing the row of boats drawn up on the sloping bank, bottoms up. “A hull danged fleet of ’em!” a soldier jubilated. “Must belong to Black Hawk’s tribe,” opined the Major. “Mighty nice of the redskins to keep them at this particular place.” There were six of the big bark boats, just sufficient to carry all thirty of the party. In a jiffy the craft were turned over and toted to the water. Two paddles were found underneath each. The exultant men had hardly boarded the canoes and sunk their paddles into the water, when a long cry, piercing and full of anger, came from the grove that they had left. “They’ve stalked the place,” laughed Stillman, “found out that we’ve gone, and are hopping mad about it. Now men, swing those blades lustily, so that we can get a good piece down river before dark.” Keeping to the middle of the wide stream, where the strong current would aid them most, they glided smoothly down the channel. All the while they kept a watchful eye, especially to the rear, but there was no alarm. Two hours later, at twilight, they ran the boats into a little cove, where they beached them for the night. All hands were glad to step ashore, and stretch their cramped limbs, for the narrow canoes were crowded to the limit. The wind, blowing down stream from the north, had grown quite cool with the coming of night. There was plenty of dry driftwood about, but Stillman decided not to risk a fire. Desolate howls came from the gloomy forest, as they lay down to sleep. “Timber wolves!” said one of the men, casting a worried look at the encircling darkness. “I wish we had a fire. The beasts fear a blaze.” The night was divided into watches of three hours apiece; but the darkness passed peacefully. Neither timber wolves nor red wolves came; and the thirty canoemen were off again the next morning at the first flush of dawn. Three hours afterward, at mid-morning, they pulled in safely at Dixon’s Ferry, thankful to the bottom of their hearts to have escaped from the clutches of the vengeful Sacs. Taking leave of Stillman for the time being, Ben Gordon, Jim Martin and the three troopers at once went to the camp of their detachment, where they were greeted by the others as men returned from the dead. “We gave you up for lost,” asserted Tom Gordon, pounding brother Ben on the back in unrestrained joy and relief. “It’s a plumb miracle the Sacs didn’t lift yer scalps,” Bill Brown agreed, honest delight shining in his weatherbeaten face. “Heap smart,” grunted Bright Star, “to get away from Hawk.”