"Mebbe so, lad," replied Barnabas, "though the quietness ain't an indication of it. We're all badly winded, but the river ain't far off now. Onct we git across, or find a boat--" The rest of the sentence was drowned by one blood-curdling whoop that rang with awful shrillness through the silent wood. Another and another followed, and the glimmer of a torch was seen coming over a knoll at a furlong's space behind the fugitives. "The Senecas are hot on the trail!" cried Barnabas, "an' their keen ears have heard us. On for the river! It's our last chance!" CHAPTER XII IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS ISLAND PLAYS A PART Barnabas was right in guessing the river to be near, and the fugitives could not have approached it at a better time or place, though they had little idea of the good fortune in store for them. If they thought about the chances at all, as they ran desperately before the screeching Indians, it was to realize what little likelihood there was of finding a boat, or of safely gaining the farther bank by swimming. But when they had plunged through a slope of water-birches, and straggled breathlessly down to the pebbly shore of the Susquehanna, a welcome sight at once met their eyes. Almost directly opposite, and twenty yards out in the stream, a big flat-boat was drifting leisurely with the current. Over the high gunwales rose two or three heads, and a voice demanded sharply: "Who's yonder?" "Friends!" cried Barnabas. "Fugitives from the enemy! The redskins are hot upon us. Cover the bank with your guns while we come aboard." Splash! went Barnabas into the water, and his companions after him. With sturdy strokes they swam diagonally down-stream, caught the stern of the flat, and hauled themselves on board. As they dropped low on the bottom, yells and musket-shots split the air, and bullets rained like hail against the thick timbers. From the shelter of the elevated bulwark the occupants of the flat returned a cool and effective fire, and when Nathan ventured to peep through a loop-hole he saw two Indians prostrate on the beach and a third struggling in agony in shallow water. During the lull that followed the first volley from both sides, the boat drifted over a course of rapids, and the swifter current swung it well toward mid-stream. With a few parting shots the baffled foes disappeared, and a peaceful calm fell on river and wood. The escaped prisoners were surprised to find Morgan Proud and Abel Cutbush on board the flat. The latter's wife and child were with him, and another member of the party was a negro named Cato. Mrs. Cutbush was a hardy type of the colonial women of the time, and her six-year-old daughter, Molly, had not even whimpered during the brief fight.