"I means it vos lucky for de shoe," added Otto, who, in groping
about, stumbled at that moment upon the missing article. "Bime by
de vater soaks down mine shoes agin and I stands on head and kicks
it out."

But Jack Carleton was anxious to learn what had befallen his friend
since their voluntary separation some hours before, and so, while
they were advancing along the shore, the story was told.

Otto, as he had agreed to do, was riding at a leisurely pace, when,
without the least warning, the sharp crack of a rifle broke the
stillness of, the woods on his right, and the bullet zipped so close
to his forehead that it literally grazed the skin, leaving a faint
mark, which was visible several days afterward.

The lad was never so frightened in all his life. For a minute or so
he was absolutely speechless, during which the horse, alarmed in a
less degree than he, broke into a trot. Otto, however, quickly
regained his self-control, and fully realized his danger. He did
not glance behind him nor to the right or left. No investigation
was needed convince him of his peril. He put the horse to a dead
run, first throwing himself forward on his neck so as to offer the
least possible target to his enemies.

Only the single shot was fired, and Jack counted it strange that the
report failed to reach his ears. When the fugitive had gone a
considerable distance, he ventured to look back. He thought he saw
several Indians, but it was probably fancy, for had they observed he
was leaving them behind (as would have been the case), they surely
would have appealed to their rifles again.