The distance seemed to lengthen and grow interminable, and their pace,
although rapid, was to Robert like that of a snail. Yet the longest
journey must come to an end. The new island rose at last before them,
larger than the others but like the rest covered throughout with heavy
forest.

They were almost in its shelter, when a faint cry came from the lofty
cliff on the west. It was a low, whining sound, very distant,
but singularly penetrating, a sinister note with which Robert was
familiar, the Indian war whoop. He recognized it, and understood its
significance. Warriors had seen the canoe and knew that it marked the
flight of the three.

"What do you think we'd better do?" he said.

"We'll stop for a moment or two at the island and take a look around
us," replied Willet.

They moored the canoe, and waded to the shore. Far behind them was
the Indian fleet, about twenty canoes, coming in the formation of
an arrow, while the bonfires on the cliffs towered toward the sky. A
rising wind swept the waves down and they crumbled one after another,
as they broke upon the island.

"It looks like a trap with us inside of it," said the hunter. "That
shout meant that they've seen our canoe, as you lads know. Warriors
have already gone below to head us off, and maybe they've got another
fleet, which, answering their signals, will come up from the south,
shutting us between two forces."