"Don't risk your young life, my brave boy," pleaded Mrs. Cutbush. "Leave this to some of the older men." But Nathan refused to yield, and since he was obviously the best fitted for carrying out the undertaking, and the canoe offered the only means of escape for the party from a most perilous situation, a reluctant consent was finally given. "Take this to cut the canoe loose," said Barnabas, handing the lad a sharp knife. "You'll likely find it anchored by a rope." Nathan stripped off all but his light trousers, put the hilt of the knife between his teeth, and swam quickly away from the outer edge of the rocks, followed by anxious eyes and heartfelt wishes for his safety. Packer's Island extended some distance below the falls, as well as above, and the current drifted Nathan nearly to the lower point before he struck shallow water. He waded the remainder of the distance, and then ran briskly up the bushy and sandy shore. The night was dark, but he could dimly make out the jutting promontory when he came opposite it. He continued five hundred yards further toward the head of the island, and then softly entered the water for his diagonal swim of rather more than a quarter of a mile. Only his head peeped over the surface and a slight ripple trailing behind him was all that marked the gentle strokes of his arms and legs. He was soon in mid-channel, from where he could darkly make out the canoe. He swam to a point ten feet above it, and dropped down with the stealth of a mink. As he drew nearer he saw that the craft lay bottom up, and was held by a tow rope running down into the water from the bow. A couple of half-submerged pine boughs still clung to it. The lad caught hold of the rope with one hand, and with the other he took the knife from between his teeth. He was about to slash when a husky screech made his blood run cold, and he looked up to see the painted face of an Indian glaring at him within ten inches. The redskin had evidently been shot in the first volley from the flat, and had been clinging to the canoe ever since, too badly hurt to cry out or to swim to shore. But the sight of a hated foe revived his strength, and on the very second that he made his presence known he sprang at Nathan and clutched his throat. Down went both, entangled with the rope, and tearing it loose from the anchorage in their struggles. The lad kept one hand free, and while he held his breath he stabbed repeatedly with the knife. After a few terrible seconds the grip on his neck relaxed, and he shot to the surface.