But there was little time or space to give remorse an inning. The
Cherokees, checked but for the moment, were storming hotly at our heels.
And as we ran I heard the shouted command of Falconnet to his mounted
men: "A rescue! Right oblique, and head them in the road! Gallop, you
devils!"

We ran in Indian file, I at the chief's heels and Jennifer at mine. I
followed the Catawba blindly; and being as yet little better than half a
man in breath and muscle, was well-nigh spent before we crashed down
through a tangled briar thicket into the river road.

We were in time, but with no fraction of a minute to spare. We could
hear the _pad-pad-pad_ of the light-footed runners close upon us,
following now by the noise we made; and on our left the air was
trembling to the thunder of the mounted men coming at a break-neck
gallop down the road.

"Thank God!" says Richard, with a quick eyeshot to right and left in the
lesser gloom of the open. "I was afeard even the chief might miss the
place in the dark. Down the bank to the river!--quick, man, and
cautious! If they smell us out now, we're no better than buzzard-meat!"
And when we reached the water's edge: "You taught me how to paddle a
pirogue, Jack; I hope you haven't lost the knack of it yourself."

"No," said I; and the three of us slid the hollowed log into the stream.

We were afloat in shortest order, holding the canoe against the current
by clinging to the overhanging trees that fringed the bank; yet with
paddles poised for a second dash for freedom should the need arise. I
should have dipped forthwith to save the precious minutes, but Jennifer