We shall not stop to describe the incidents that happened to the travelers from the Yah House to Kingston. Suffice it to say that they traveled as fast as Cahoonshee’s health would permit. When within ten miles of the Hudson River, they struck north-west, and after going about two miles, Rolla gave the usual signal that he had discovered where Amy had walked. They followed the trail about four miles to a stream that emptied into the Hudson, and here the trail was lost. The party divided and followed down both sides of the stream until they reached the river, but no trail was found. Cunning dogs! exclaimed Cahoonshee. They have waded up or down stream. But they will have to come to the shore somewhere. They can’t wade across the river. They will have to steal a canoe or build a raft. They have probably gone down stream. Let us follow them. The sun was just setting, and dark clouds threatened a storm from the south-west. A vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest and river. Rolla sprang into the air and gave the usual three barks. The dog either sees or smells something, said Cahoonshee. Look on the river when the next flash comes. Then came a gust of wind that bent the trees nearly to the ground, which was followed by continuous lightning, and which lit up the river from shore to shore. About a thousand feet from the shore was plainly to be seen the canoe containing Amy and her captors. Our chase is in vain, said Cahoonshee. The canoe cannot float long in that stream. It will drive them on the rocks at the head of the island. Let us build a raft and renew the search as soon as the storm is over. CHAPTER XVII. The Storm—Buried in the River—Old Shell to the Rescue. Which is Which and What is What. The Indians had scarcely left the shore when the storm broke upon them in all its fury. The canoe had capacity for but six in still water. With its present cargo, it sank to the gunwale. The thunder roared, the lightning flashed, and the waves ran mountain high. Earth, air and water seemed to be striving for the mastery. The little canoe was tossed about on the surging foam like an egg shell in a boiling caldron. The occupants realized their danger, yet remained cool and collected and patiently awaited their doom. At last the Chief said: We must leave the canoe. Perhaps with none on board but the women it will float. There was a small rope attached to one end of the canoe held by a toggle. He caught this and jumped into the river, followed by the other four. Amy saw at a glance that she had it in her power to free herself and escape from the Indians. What could be easier than to pull the toggle and cast the Indians adrift. Then her conscience checked her. That would drown them, and that would be murder. But life, liberty and self-preservation soon overruled conscience. She pulled the toggle and the Indians were adrift.