I commanded silence, and we craned into the darkness, and listened. We
all heard it. The sound came as regularly as a heart-beat, and it was
no muffled stroke. The oarsman was using his paddle openly and fast.
The sound came from behind us, a little to the north, and, judging from
its growing distinctness, it was following hard in our track. There
was nothing for it but a race. I gave orders.

The men worked well, and we sped through foaming water for perhaps a
quarter hour. Then land rose in front of us. It shot up, all in an
instant, out of the murk, and we had quick work to keep from grounding
our canoes. I could see no shore line to north or south. We had found
either the end of a promontory or a small island. We landed on a
shelving beach, and lifted the canoes out of danger.

"Lie down," I commanded; and we dropped on the sand, and strained our
ears for sound of pursuit.

For a time we heard nothing. Our burst of speed had carried us some
distance, and I had begun to think that we had shaken off our pursuer,
when again came the beat, beat, beat of the distant oar. We lay close
as alligators on a bank, and waited. The strokes came nearer, and at
last we saw a sliding shape. As well as we could make out, there was
but one canoe, and it was passing us a little to the northward. It
would miss the jut of land where we were hiding, and land on the main
shore of the peninsula. We could hear but one paddle, so judged that
there was but one person in the canoe. Still we did not know.

It was growing near moonrise, and there was nothing to be done. I told
the men to lie near together, and sleep till I called them. Then I cut
boughs and laid a couple of blankets on them for the woman's couch.