made no reply. Intuitively Dane reached for his musket, but a sharp
warning from the Indian caused him to desist.

"No shoot," he ordered. "Paddle. Quick."

And in truth there was urgent need, for the canoe had swung somewhat to
the left and was in danger of being swamped by the big waves as they
rolled and tossed their white foamy manes. Another bullet sang by as
Dane drove his paddle into the water and forced the canoe into the eye
of the wind just as a larger wave than usual was about to break. To
attempt to shoot he realised would be useless, although he longed to
have a try at the insulting slashers. But to reach the opposite shore
in safety would require every ounce of strength and utmost skill, so he
bent steadily to his task and paid no further heed to the men upon the
shore.

Ahead lay two islands, separated by a narrow strip of water, and toward
this opening they directed their course. It was a hard fight, and only
men of great strength and thoroughly-developed muscles could have
accomplished the task. Reeling, dipping, lifting, and sliding, the
canoe pressed on, a fragile thing in the grip of an angry monster. But
bear up it did and rode proudly at last into the smooth water between
the two islands. Here the men rested and mopped their moist foreheads.

"Bad blow," the Indian casually remarked.

"Pretty heavy," Dane replied. "I wish the slashers had come after us."

"Slashers, ugh! Cowards! No come. Bimeby me ketch 'em. Me fix 'em,
all sam' skunk."