"Come on," he cried hastily, turning. "Our only hope is the river, Audubon! If we can splash through the shallows beyond the edge of the fire, we'll be safe." "Lead the way, then," returned the other calmly. "Good God, what a sight!" His leathern shirt already hot against his skin, Norton turned and plunged to where the bear was still crashing through the canes. The river was a hundred yards away, and so thick were the high canes that to force a passage was impossible; their only hope lay in following the course of the frightened bear. With hot anger raging in him against the fiends who had laid this trap, and with quick realization that Audubon's shot at the turkey the previous evening must have drawn their foes upon them, Norton dashed forward into the muck. It was high time, for the nearer canes were already being fired by sparks. On every side the explosions were crashing out while small animals scurried past in blind panic. A moment later the two friends gained the shore, however, and as they did so a canoe appeared a dozen feet away, paddled by a single man. "Help!" cried Norton eagerly. "Come in here and get us off, friend!" The canoe was drifting slowly, and even as the two plunged out into the shallow water, they were halted abruptly. The high brake around them shut out the glare from behind, and by the rapidly increasingly daylight they saw that the single occupant of the canoe was covering them with a rifle. "Hold on, thar!" he cried hoarsely. "This gun's primed!" And Norton recognized Audubon's double-barrelled rifle. There was now no doubt as to the identity of the canoeist--it was he who had thieved their rifles and set the cane-brake afire. "You'll pay for this work," exclaimed Norton, trying to repress his rage. His hand went to his belt. Audubon, also realizing at once who the man was, took a forward step. "Come on, Norton--wade around the brake----" "Stop!" The man in the canoe levelled the rifle full at them; he was barely three yards away, and an eddy of the stream floated the canoe around. "You-all ain't in no danger. This here's a warnin' to git. They's a flatboat comin' around the bend--swim out an' git took off; stay on her clar to Saint Looey, an' keep out o' this country, you"--and Norton perceived that the remarks were addressed to him. He also perceived something else. The man was holding the rifle at his left shoulder; he was bearded, wore a buckskin coat and a cap of fox, with the brush hanging over his back. Norton started suddenly. He had no need to see powder-horn or moccasins. "So you're completing your work, eh?" he cried savagely. "You're the man who shot at me on the Beargrass Creek road the other day, eh?" The villainous face of the man contracted. "Ain't no 'lasses sticking to your feet, is they?" he jeered. "Right ye are, pardner. Now, you-all git aboard that flatboat an' stay thar, see?"