“Manitou was watching over us then,” said Tayoga with the same gravity.

“As sure as the Hudson runs into the sea, he was,” said Willet in a tone of reverence.  “If that tree had hit us we and the canoe would all have been smashed together and a week later maybe the French would have fished our pieces out of the St. Lawrence.”

Robert, who was farthest forward in the canoe, noticed that the cliff ahead, hollowed out at the base by the perpetual eating of the waters, seemed to project over the stream, and he concluded that it was the place in Tayoga’s mind.

“Our shelter, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing a finger by the lightning’s flare.

Tayoga nodded, and the three, putting their last ounce of strength into the sweep of the paddles, sent the canoe racing over the swift current toward the haven now needed so badly.  As they approached, Robert saw that the hollow went far back into the stone, having in truth almost the aspects of a cave.  Beneath the mighty projection he saw also that the water was smooth, unlashed by the wind and outside the sweep of the current, and he felt immense relief when the canoe shot into its still depths and he was able to lay the paddle beside him.

“Back a little farther,” said Tayoga, and he saw then, still by the flare of lightning, that the water ended against a low shelf at least six feet broad, upon which they stepped, lifting the canoe after them.

“It’s all that you claimed for it, and more, Tayoga,” said the hunter.  “I fancy a ship in a storm would be glad enough to find a refuge as good for it as this is for us.”

Tayoga smiled, and Robert knew that he felt deep satisfaction because he had brought them so well to port.  Looking about after they had lifted up the canoe, he saw that in truth nature had made a good harbor here for those who traveled on the river, its waters so far never having been parted by anything but a canoe.  The hollow went back thirty or forty feet with a sloping roof of stone, and from the ledge, whenever the lightning flashed, they saw the river flowing before them in a rushing torrent, but inside the hollow the waters were a still pool.

“Now the rain comes,” said Tayoga.

Then they heard its sweep and roar and it arrived in such mighty volume that the surface of the river was beaten almost flat.  But in their snug and well-roofed harbor not a drop touched them.  Robert on the ledge with his back to the wall had a pervading sense of comfort.  The lightning and the thunder were both dying now, but the rain came in a steady and mighty sweep.  As the lightning ceased entirely it was so dark that they saw the water in front of them but dimly, and they had to be very careful in their movements on the ledge, lest they roll off and slip into its depths.

“Robert,” said Willet in a whimsical tone, “one of the first things I tried to teach you when you were a little boy was always to be calm, and under no circumstances to let your calm be broken up when there was nothing to break it up.  Now, we’ve every reason to be calm.  We’ve got a good home here, and the storm can’t touch us.”