“Then it is agreed,” said Robert.

“It is so,” said Tayoga.

No more words were needed, and they strengthened their hearts for the daring attempt, waiting patiently for the afternoon to wane and die into the night, which, arrived moonless and starless and heavy with dark, as they had hoped and predicted.  Just before, a little spasmodic firing came from the besiegers, but they did not deign to answer.  Instead they waited patiently until the night was far advanced and then they prepared quickly for running the gauntlet, a task that would require the greatest skill, courage and presence of mind.  Robert’s heart beat hard.  Like the others he was weary of the friendly hollow that had served them so well, and the murmuring of the river, as it flowed, invited them to come on and use it as the road of escape.

The three took off all their clothing and disposed everything carefully in the canoe, laying the rifles on top where they could be reached with a single swift movement of the arm.  Then they stared up and down the stream, and listened with all their powers of hearing.  No savage was to be seen nor did anyone make a sound that reached the three, although Robert knew they lay behind the rocks not so very far away.

“They’re not stirring, Tayoga,” whispered the hunter.  “Perhaps they think we don’t dare try the river, and in this case as in most others the boldest way is the best.  Take the other end of the canoe, and we’ll lift it down gently.”

He and the Onondaga lowered the canoe so slowly that it made no splash when it took the water, and then the three lowered themselves in turn, sinking into the stream to their throats.

“Keep close to the bank,” whispered the hunter, “and whatever you do don’t make any splash as you swim.”

The three were on the side of the craft next to the cliff and their heads did not appear above its side.  Then the canoe moved down the stream at just about the speed of the current, and no human hands appeared, nor was any human agency visible.  It was just a wandering little boat, set adrift upon the wilderness waters, a light shell, but with an explorer’s soul.  It moved casually along, keeping nearest to the cliff, the safest place for so frail a structure, hesitating two or three times at points of rocks, but always making up its mind to go on once more, and see where this fine but strange river led.

Luckily it was very dark by the cliff.  The shadows fell there like black blankets, and no eye yet rested upon the questing canoe which kept its way, idly exploring the reaches of the river.  Gasna Gaowo, this bark canoe of red elm, was not large, but it was a noble specimen of its kind, a forest product of Onondaga patience and skill.  On either side near the prow was painted in scarlet a great eagle’s eye, and now the two large red eyes of the canoe gazed ahead into the darkness, seeking to pierce the unknown.