Any attempt at steering was out of the question in so mad a current, but the lads hardly thought of the danger. Before they could realize it, their canoe had dashed safely down the roaring, raging slope, and was cleaving the choppy little waves that marked the even flow of the river beyond the rapids. With anxious hearts, and with a fear that they dared not put into words, Nathan and Godfrey paddled swiftly along on the current, eagerly watching ahead and out toward mid-channel, and over to the near-by wooded shore. The moon was under clouds again, and the surface of the river was misty. Frequently they shouted the name of the missing man, but only the sullen voice of the rapids answered. When they had gone nearly a mile, some lingering hope persuaded them to turn back. So they pushed up along the shore from eddy to eddy, scanning every patch of sand and gravel, every clump of bushes, and constantly calling Barnabas by name. Hope was utterly dead when they drew near the falls, and now Nathan grounded the canoe in a little cove. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he was not ashamed of them. "We've got to face the worst," he said, hoarsely. "Barnabas is drowned. He and Glass perished together." "Yes, there's no doubt of it," assented Godfrey. "I'm awfully sorry for you." "If we could only find the body," said Nathan. "But we can't," Godfrey replied. "The water seems to be deep around here, and they both must have gone to the bottom. They may not come to the top for a day or two." Nathan groaned. "This is terrible," he exclaimed. "I can hardly believe it. To think that Barnabas is dead--that we will never see him again! You don't know how brave and noble he was--" "Yes, I learned that much during the last few days," interrupted Godfrey. "Believe me, Nathan, I am as sorry as you are. To know such a man as Barnabas Otter makes me feel sometimes that your cause will triumph." Nathan silently clasped the other's hand and for some minutes the two lads sat without speaking, gazing over the misty waters and listening to the sad music of the falls. Then both heard a distant and muffled clatter of hoofs. "Horsemen!" exclaimed Nathan, "and they are coming up the river road. I must see them." "But there may be danger," remonstrated Godfrey. "No, not in this neighborhood. It is too close to the fort and to Harris's Ferry. Come on, Godfrey!" They sprang out of the canoe and clambered up the wooded bank, reaching the road just as two wagons came along, escorted by six mounted men. Nathan halted the party, and after briefly explaining that he and his companion were fugitives from Wyoming, he told what had happened that night at Fort Hunter. The victims of the tragedy were known by name to the men, and they expressed genuine sorrow for the death of Barnabas, as well as heartfelt relief at the termination of Simon Glass's infamous career.