Cautiously he began a search along the shore, for some means of crossing the stream. The soft dip of a paddle came to his ear. Silently retreating to some overhanging bushes, he waited, watched, and listened. The sound of the paddle became more and more distinct. Out of the shadows, emerged a small craft containing a single occupant. It rapidly approached the place where Douglas stood. The young man drew his knife and, gently parting the bushes, peered forth. The canoeman was a stalwart Indian. The next moment, the light vessel grated upon the sands and the unwary paddler sprang ashore. Hardly had his feet touched the earth, ere he sank in his tracks, a corpse, with Douglas’s keen knife buried in his heart. “It’s little short of murder,” muttered the young scout; “but there was no alternative. One of us had to die.” Quickly stooping, he rolled the body of his fallen foe into the river. Drawing the canoe ashore and secreting it among the bushes, he rapidly retraced his steps to Amy Hilliard and her child. He found her still seated upon the log, her face buried in the folds of the baby’s shawl. Touching her upon the shoulder, he said simply: “I’ve found a boat. Come.” Without a word, she arose. Picking up his empty gun, he led the way toward the river. She kept close at his heels, panting with fear and excitement. Like two silent specters, they threaded the intricate maze of the forest. On reaching the edge of the wood, he remarked in a cautious whisper: “Now comes the most dangerous part of our journey. Whatever happens, you must preserve perfect silence. Step carefully—a breaking twig may bring a dozen warriors upon us. Keep close to me—and be ready to obey my orders. If you see me drop to the ground, do likewise.” She touched his arm, in token that she understood and would obey, but said nothing. Down the bank, and through the tangled bushes along the shore, they slowly made their way. Skillfully dragging the canoe from its hiding-place and launching it, he breathed in her ear: “Let me hold the child while you get in.” “But it may cry,” she whispered in reply. “True,” he answered. “Here—let me assist you. Seat yourself in the bottom. That’s right.”—Then placing his rifle in the bow of the craft.—“Now lay the baby in your lap, and take this paddle.” “What do you mean?” she asked, alarm in her whispered tone. “The vessel is too light to carry all of us,” he answered quietly, but firmly. “You must paddle to the opposite shore. I’ll turn you around and start you. Don’t lose your head—and you’ll land safely.” “But you?” she inquired, almost inaudibly. “I’ll swim after you. Off you go.” Watching her until she disappeared in the darkness, he stealthily dropped into the water and struck out in the wake of the frail boat. A few minutes later he stood upon the other shore. His garments were dripping and his teeth were chattering from the chill of the water. He looked about him but saw nothing of the canoe or its occupants.