Then shouts
and shots both ceased and the heavy silence came again.
"Now is our time," whispered Henry. "Paul, steer southward. Jim, you and
Tom row, and Sol and I will be ready with the guns. Keep your heads down
as low as you can."
Jim Hart and Tom Ross took the oars, pulling them through the water with
extreme caution and slowness. All knew that sharp ears were listening in
the flooded forest, and the splash of oars would bring the war canoes at
once. But they were determined that the fog which was such a help to
their enemies should be an equal help to them also.
Slowly the heavy boat crept through the water. Paul, at the tiller,
steered with judgment and craft, and his was no light task. Now and then
low boughs were lapped in the water and bushes submerged to their tops
grew in the way. To become tangled in them might be fatal and to scrape
against them would be a signal to their enemies, but Paul steered clear
every time.
They had gone perhaps fifty yards when Henry gave a signal to stop and Jim
and Tom rested on their oars. Then they heard a burst of firing behind
them, and a smile of saturnine triumph spread slowly but completely over
the face of Shif'less Sol.
"They're shootin' at the place whar we wuz, an' whar we ain't now," he
whispered to Henry.
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