"Slashers, Pete, eh?" he questioned in a low voice.

"A-ha-ha," was the reply. "No meet 'em, Dane. Too many. We go round."

Without another word he swung sharply to the right, and led the way to
the water in a wide circle. Cautiously they approached the shore, and
then keeping within the edge of the forest they moved slowly along,
most of the time upon their hands and knees. Occasionally they paused
to listen, but the only sounds they heard were the ones which had first
arrested their attention, although much nearer now.

Presently they stopped and from a thicket of bushes drew forth a birch
canoe, which had been cunningly hidden. It took them but a few minutes
to carry it to the water, step lightly aboard, and push away from the
shore. Each seized a paddle, and soon the canoe was headed for the
open, with Dane squatting forward, and the Indian seated astern.

Less hardy souls would have hesitated ere venturing out upon that angry
stretch of water in such a frail craft. The crooked Kennebacasis was
showing its temper in no uncertain manner. Exposed to the full rake of
the strong westerly wind, the waves were running high, and breaking
into white-caps, threatened to engulf the reeling canoe. But the
Indian was master of the situation, and steered so skilfully that only
an occasional wisp of spray was flung on board.

They had gone about two hundred yards when a shot rang out from the
shore, and a bullet whistled past their heads. Glancing quickly
around, they saw several men in the distance with muskets in their
hands. They were shouting words of defiance to which the canoeists