Harold was now paddling forward, while the scout had the place at the
stern. The former was surprised to feel the canoe shooting off from
its former course at right angles toward the shore; then, curving
still more round, they began to paddle back along the lake. The
canoes which had been pursuing them were nearly abreast of each
other. They had embarked from opposite sides of the island, but they
had been gradually drawing together, although still some distance
apart, when Peter turned his canoe. Seeing his maneuver, both turned
to head him off, but by so doing they occupied an entirely different
position in relation to each other, one canoe being nearly half a
mile nearer to them than the other.

"Take it easy," Peter said. "These varmints will cut us off and we've
got to fight, but we can cripple the one nearest to us before the
other comes up."

The boats were now darting over the water in a line which promised to
bring the leading canoe almost in collision with that of Peter. When
within two hundred yards of each other Peter ceased rowing.

"Now," he said, "Harold, see if you can pick one of them fellows off.
It's no easy matter, traveling at the pace they are. You fire first."

Harold took a steady aim and fired. A yell of derision told that he
had missed. The Indians stopped paddling. There was a flash and a
ball struck the canoe. At the same moment Peter fired.

"There's one down!" he exclaimed.