"Then float a little, and we can take the exact course of the wind again. The canoe, of course, will continue to go the way the wind goes." "Unless it's deflected by currents which do not always follow the wind." "I do not notice any current, and to follow the wind is our only hope. The mists and vapors will hide the canoe from us until we are very close to it" "And you may thank Tododaho that they will hide something else also. Unless I make a great mistake, Tayoga, I hear the swish of paddles." "You make no mistake, Dagaeoga. I too hear paddles, ten, a dozen, or more of them. It is the fleet of Tandakora coming back and it will soon be passing between us and the shore. Truly we may be thankful, as you say, for the mists and vapors which, while they hide the canoe from us, also hide us from our enemies." "I shall lie flat upon my back and float, and I'll blend with the water." "It is a wise plan, Dagaeoga. So shall I. Then Tandakora himself would not see us, even if he passed within twenty feet of us." "He is passing now, and I can see the outlines of their boats." The two were silent as the fish themselves, sustained by imperceptible strokes, and Robert saw the fleet of Tandakora pass in a ghostly line. They looked unreal, a shadow following shadows, the huge figure of the Ojibway chief in the first boat a shadow itself. Robert's blood chilled, and it was not from the cold of the water. He was in a mystic and unreal world, but a world in which danger pressed in on every side. He felt like one living back in a primeval time. The swish of the paddles was doubled and tripled by his imagination, and the canoes seemed to be almost on him. The questing eyes of Tandakora and his warriors swept the waters as far as the night, surcharged with mists and vapors, would allow, but they did not see the two human figures, so near them and almost submerged in the lake. The sound of the swishing paddles moved southward, and the line of ghostly canoes melted again, one by one, into the darkness. "They're gone, Tayoga," whispered Robert in a tone of immense relief. "So they are, Dagaeoga, and they will seek us long elsewhere. Are you yet weary?" "I might be at another time, but with my life at stake I can't afford to grow tired. Let us follow the wind once more." They swam anew with powerful strokes, despite the long time they had been in the water, and no sailors, dying of thirst, ever scanned the sea more eagerly for a sail than they searched through the heavy dusk for their lost canoe. The wind continued to rise, and the waves with it. Foam was often dashed over their heads, the water grew cold to their bodies, now and then they floated on their backs to rest themselves and thus the singular chase, with the wind their only guide, was maintained. Robert was the first to see a dim shape, but he would not say anything until it grew in substance and solidity. Nevertheless hope flooded his heart, and then he said: