am sorry for you, Jim," he said. "I not only see a magnificent stone castle, but I see a splendid town over there on the mainland."
"You talk plumb foolish, Paul," said Jim Hart.
"They are all coming," said Paul.
But Jim Hart continued to see only the bark and brush hut on the island, and the vast and unbroken wilderness on the mainland. His eyes roved back, from the mainland to the hut.
"Now, ef I had an ax an' a saw," he said regretfully, "I could make that look like somethin'. I'm a good cook, ef I do say it, Paul, but I'd like to be a fust-class carpenter. Thar ain't no chance, though, out here, whar thar ain't nothin' much but cabins, an' every man builds his own hisself."
"Never mind, Jim," said Paul, "your time will come; and if it doesn't come to you, it will come to your sons."
"Paul, you're talkin' foolisher than ever," said Jim indignantly. "You know that I ain't a married man, an' that I ain't got no sons."
Paul only smiled. Again he was dreaming, looking far into the future.
The spire of smoke was still on the horizon line when the twilight came, but the next morning it was gone, and they did not see it again. Several days more passed in peace and contentment, and, desiring to secure more game, Paul and Hart took out the canoe one evening and rowed to the mainland.
They watched a while about the mouth of the brook, the favorite drinking place of the wild animals, but they saw nothing. It seemed likely to Paul that a warning had been sent to all the tenants of the forest not to drink there any more, as it was a dangerous place, and he expressed a desire to go farther into the forest.
"All right, Paul," said Jim Hart, "but you kain't be too keerful. Don't git lost out thar in the woods, an' don't furgit your way back to this spot. I'll wait right here in the boat and watch fur a deer. One may come yet."
Paul took his rifle and entered the woods. It was his idea that he might find game farther up the little stream, and he followed its course, taking care to make no noise. It was a fine moonlight night, and, keeping well within the shadow of the trees, he carefully watched the brook. He was so much absorbed in his task that he forgot the passage of time, and did not notice how far he had gone.
Paul had acquired much skill as a hunter, and he was learning to observe the signs of the forest; but he did not hear a light step behind him, although he did feel himself seized in a powerful grasp. This particular warrior was a Miami, and he may have been impelled by pride—that is, a desire to take a white youth alive, or at least hold him until his comrades, who were near, could come and secure him. To this circumstance, and to a fortunate slip of the savage, the boy undoubtedly owed his life.
Paul was strong, and the grasp of the Indian was like the touch of fire to him. He made a sudden convulsive effort, far greater than his natural physical powers, and the arms of the warrior were torn loose. Both staggered, each away from the other, and while they were yet too close for Paul to use his rifle, he did, under impulse, what the white man often does, the red man never. His clenched fist shot out like lightning, and caught the savage on the point of the jaw.
The Miami hit the earth with a thud, and lay there stunned. Paul turned and ran with all his might, and as he ran he heard the war cry behind him, and then the pattering of feet. But he heard no shots. He judged that the distance and the darkness kept the savages from firing, and he thanked God for the night.
He had sufficient presence of mind to remember the stream, and he kept closely to its course as he ran back swiftly toward the canoe.
"Up, Jim, up! The warriors have come!" he shouted, as he ran.
But Jim Hart, an awkward bean pole of a lion-hearted man, was already coming to meet him, and fired past him at a dusky, dancing figure that pursued. The death yell followed, the pursuit wavered for a moment, and then Jim Hart, turning, ran with Paul to the canoe, into which both leaped at the same time. But Hart promptly undoubled himself, seized the paddle, and with one mighty shove sent the boat out into the lake. Paul grasped the other paddle, and bent to the same task. Their rifles lay at their feet.
"Bend low, Paul," said Jim Hart. "We're still within range of the shore."
Paul almost lay down in the canoe, but he never ceased to make long, frantic sweeps with the paddle, and he was glad to see the water flashing behind him. Then he heard a great yell of rage and the crackle of rifles, and bullets spattered the surface of the lake about them. One chipped a splinter from the edge of the canoe and whistled by Paul's ear, singing, as it passed, "Look out! Look out!" But Paul's only reply was to use his paddle faster, and yet faster.
The boy did not notice that Jim Hart had turned the course of the canoe, and that they were running northward, about midway between the island and the mainland; but the rifle fire ceased presently, and Jim Hart said to him:
"You can take it easier now, Paul. We're out uv range, though not uv sight."
Paul straightened up, laid his paddle in the boat, and gasped for breath.
"Look over thar, Paul, ef you want to see a pleasant scene," said Jim Hart calmly.
Paul's gaze followed the long man's pointing finger, and he saw at least twenty warriors gathered on the bank, and regarding them now in dead silence.
"Mad!" said Jim Hart. "Mad clean through!"
"They've chased us on land, and now they are chasing us on water. I wonder where they will chase us next," said Paul.
"Not through the air, 'cause they can't fly, nor kin we," said Jim Hart sagely.
Paul looked back again at the ferocious band gathered on the shore, and, while he could not see their faces at the distance, he could imagine the evil passions pictured there. As he gazed the band broke up, and many of them came running along the shore. Then Paul noticed that the prow of their canoe was not turned toward the island, but was bearing steadily toward the north end of the lake, leaving the island well to the left. He glanced at Jim Hart, and the long man laughed low, but with deep satisfaction.
"Don't you see, Paul," he said, "that we kain't go to the islan' an' show to them that we've been livin' thar? That might wipe out all the spell uv the place. We got to let 'em think we're 'fraid uv it, too, an' that we dassent land thar. We'll paddle up to the head uv the lake, come down on the other side, an' then, when it's atween us an' them, we'll come across to our islan'."
They were still abreast of the island, and yet midway between it and the mainland. Paul saw the Indians running along the shore, and now and then taking a shot at the canoe. But the bullets always fell short.
"Foolish! Plumb foolish," said Jim Hart, "a-wastin' good powder an' good lead in sech a fashion!"
"That one struck nearer," said Paul, as a little jet of water spurted up in the lake. "Keep her off, Jim. A bullet that is not wasted might come along directly."
Hart sheered the boat off a little toward the island, and then took a long look at a warrior who had reached a projecting point of land.
"That thar feller looks like a chief," he said, "an' I kain't say that his looks please me a-tall, a-tall. I don't like the set uv his figger one little bit."
"What difference does it make?" said Paul. "You can't change it."
"Wa'al, now, I was a-thinkin' that maybe I could," drawled Jim Hart. "Hold the boat steady, Paul."
He laid down his paddle and took up his rifle, which he had reloaded.
"Them Injuns have guns, but they are not generally ez good ez ours," he said. "They don't carry ez fur. Now jest watch me change the set uv that savage's figger. I wouldn't do it, but he's just a-pinin' fur our blood an' the hair on top uv our heads."
Up went the long Kentucky rifle, and the moonlight fell clearly along its polished barrel. Then came the flash, the spurt of smoke, the report echoing among the hills about the lake, and the chief fell forward with his face in the water. A yell of rage arose from the others, and again bullets pattered on the surface of the lake, but all fell short. Jim Hart calmly