The boat was fetched close in to the Indiana shore and after carefully sounding the channel, Brookfield at last tied her up to a huge jutting tree. Norton ascertained that they were three miles above Shawneetown, which was a large settlement of nearly thirty cabins, and that Brookfield's spirits had now bounded high above any thought of danger. None the less, Norton stayed in the bow, one of the two trusted men agreeing to keep watch in the stern, for he would take no chances. The night was peaceful, warm, and rippling; had it not been for Kitty Grigg, the Louisianian would have been more than content to pursue his journey to the south and let Duval be dealt with later. He had already resolved to leave the boat at Fort Massac; with Red Hugh, he could work back on a scout along the---- Whether the horse-boat had been watched and followed, or whether her riding-light had betrayed her position, Norton never knew for certain. He was just filling his pipe afresh when all his dreams were shattered abruptly. From the shadows aft beneath the horse-gallery there flitted a little sparkle of steel in the moonlight, and a knife thudded into the bulwark between his uplifted arm and his side. Norton dropped his pipe with a crash, and fell back motionless, his hand on his rifle. Every sense was on the alert instantly, every fragment of woodcraft to the fore. From the shore he heard nothing except the soft ripple of waves, but there was a low murmur aft, and the sound of wood striking on wood, as though a boat had ground into the stern. The man on guard there, Norton concluded swiftly, must have been finished off by another knife. Suddenly and softly, a man appeared crawling forward in the shadow of the port bulwark, watching his recumbent figure; Norton recognized one of the crew. Quietly he shifted his rifle as he lay, hot rage swelling within him. A moment later the man's body came in line with the sights, and Norton pulled trigger. The roar of the shot blew the night quiet to shreds. The riverman gave one convulsive spring and dropped half across the bulwark, where he lay motionless. Norton leaped up with a shout of alarm. "Brookfield! Hugh! On deck!" Then he dropped behind a huge tobacco hogshead as another shot split the night and the bullet sang past his ear. From somewhere aft there came a wild confusion of voices, oaths, and the scuffle of feet. Norton feverishly reloaded, taking the pistol from his belt also. Beyond all doubt, Blacknose had struck. The next moment, while he was still ramming his bullet home, a swarm of dark figures appeared rushing forward, along the port side of the deck. A shot and the roar of Brookfield's stentorian voice sounded from the stern. Norton caught up his pistol and discharging it into the mass of figures stopped them momentarily; he was answered by a scattering fire which swept above him harmlessly.