Something cold made itself felt through the clothing of the young
Kentuckian, where his hip pressed the bottom of the canoe. Groping
with his hand he found it was water, which he saw bubbling through a
bullet-hole that was forced below the surface by the vigor of
Deerfoot's arm. The opposite side of the boat was lifted
correspondingly high, so that the sunlight shone through.

It will be understood that the conditions prevented the Shawanoe
from towing the boat directly across the Mississippi. The swift
current rendered a diagonal course necessary, and even that could
not be pushed with enough power to prevent the party drifting down
stream.

The red men kept up a desultory fire, but it was less frequent and
manifestly less hopeful than at first. They could not but see that
the craft was steadily passing beyond range, and the chances of
inflicting injury grew less every moment. Soon the firing ceased
altogether.

A moment later, the dripping form of Deerfoot flipped over the
gunwale again, diffusing moisture in every direction. Without a
word, he seized the paddle and plied it with his old-time skill and
vigor. He looked keenly toward Kentucky, but saw nothing of his
enemies: they must have concluded to withdraw and bestow their
attention elsewhere.

But, convinced that they were still watching the course of the
canoe, he again rose to his feet, and, circling the paddle over his
head, gave utterance to a number of tantalizing whoops. His enemies