d him until his
comrades, who were near, could come and secure him. To this circumstance,
and to a fortunate slip of the savage, the boy undoubtedly owed his life.

Paul was strong, and the grasp of the Indian was like the touch of fire to
him. He made a sudden convulsive effort, far greater than his natural
physical powers, and the arms of the warrior were torn loose. Both
staggered, each away from the other, and while they were yet too close for
Paul to use his rifle, he did, under impulse, what the white man often
does, the red man never. His clenched fist shot out like lightning, and
caught the savage on the point of the jaw.

The Miami hit the earth with a thud, and lay there stunned. Paul turned
and ran with all his might, and as he ran he heard the war cry behind him,
and then the pattering of feet. But he heard no shots. He judged that the
distance and the darkness kept the savages from firing, and he thanked God
for the night.

He had sufficient presence of mind to remember the stream, and he kept
closely to its course as he ran back swiftly toward the canoe.

"Up, Jim, up! The warriors have come!" he shouted, as he ran.

But Jim Hart, an awkward bean pole of a lion-hearted man, was already
coming to meet him, and fired past him at a dusky, dancing figure that
pursued. The death yell followed, the pursuit wavered for a moment, and
then Jim Hart, turning, ran with Paul to the canoe, into which both leaped
at the same time. But Hart promptly undoubled himself, seized the paddle,
and with one mighty shove sent the boat out into the lake. Paul grasped
the other paddle, and bent to the same task. Their rifles lay at their
feet.

"Bend low, Paul," said Jim Hart. "We're still within range of the shore."

Paul almost lay down in the canoe, but he never ceased to make long,
frantic sweeps with the paddle, and he was glad to see the water flashing
behind him. Then he heard a great yell of rage and the crackle of rifles,
and bullets spattered the surface of the lake about them. One chipped a
splinter from the edge of the canoe and whistled by Paul's ear, singing,
as it passed, "Look out! Look out!" But Paul's only reply was to use his
paddle faster, and yet faster.

The boy did not notice that Jim Hart had turned the course of the canoe,
and that they were running northward, about midway between the island and
the mainland; but the rifle fire ceased presently, and Jim Hart said to
him:

"You can take it easier n