n rods away from the canoe and between it and the Ohio
shore. The passing of the Shawanoe took place while the youth was
beneath the surface, so that he was unaware of the true situation when
he arose and stared at the boat.

"Gorrynation, if de t'ing ain't upsot!" was his exclamation when he had
approached somewhat nearer and saw the boat turned bottom upward.

The spasmodic lunge of the Shawanoe had overturned the craft, which
resembled a huge tortoise, drifting with the current.

"He's walking on de bottom ob de ribber, wid dat boat ober his head, to
keep from gettin' moonstruck. Dat can't be neither," added Jethro,
"onless he am seventeen foot tall, and I don't tink he am dat high."

The gently moving arms of the swimmer came in contact with something.
Closing his hands about it, he found it to be the oar flung out of the
canoe by the overturning.

"Dat'll come handy," thought Jethro. "When he sticks out his head to get
a bref ob air, I'll whack him wid de paddle till he s'renders."

After manoeuvring about the canoe for some minutes, a suspicion of the
truth dawned upon the youth. Even when under the water he was able to
hear the deadened reports of the rifles above, and he believed that one
of the shots must have reached the occupant of the boat, whose frenzied
leap capsized it.

Gathering courage after a few minutes, he grasped the canoe and managed
to swing it back into proper position, but it contained so much water as
to forbid its use until it was emptied. This could be done only by
taking it ashore. Jethro therefore tossed the paddle inside, and
grasping the gunwale with one hand, swam with the other toward Ohio. It
may be added that he reached it without further event, and there for a
time we will leave him to himself.

"Lie down!" thundered the missionary, seeing that his first order was
only partially obeyed. "My good woman, I beg your pardon, but it must be
done."

His words were addressed to Mrs. Ashbridge, who, in her anxiety for her
husband and son, was exposing herself in the most reckless manner. As he
spoke, he seized her in his arms as though she were but an infant, and
placed her not too gently flat in the bottom of the boat.

"There! spend these minutes in prayer--no; that will never do," he
added, grasping the shoulder of Agnes Altman, who, at that moment,
attempted to rise; "keep down--all that is between you and death is that
plank."

"But--but," pleaded the distressed girl, "tel