The different methods by which the Miami could be disposed of occurred to the Huron with electric quickness.  To the first—­that of passing over the rock and tomahawking him, there was one objection so important as to make it a fatal one.  In the bright moonlight, he would offer too fine a target to the other Miamis concealed along the bank.  Without the responsibility of his white friend’s safety, Oonomoo felt it would be hardly short of suicide, for it would be affording his deadliest enemies the opportunity of capturing or killing him as they preferred.  He had but the choice of two plans:  that of pressing forward and engaging the Miami, or of instantly returning to the shore, and proceeding to the Shawnee village by land.  He chose the former.

Everything depended now upon the quickness of the Huron’s movements.  The Miami being compelled to watch both directions, it was certain he would turn his head in a moment, when, if Oonomoo was still in the water, his fate would be pretty certain.  Accordingly he shot rapidly forward, and was so close when he halted, that, do his utmost, he could not prevent his head from striking the prow of the canoe.  Slight as was the shock, it did not escape the notice of the Miami, who instantly turned his head, and approaching the prow, leaned over and looked in the water.

The Huron had been expecting this movement, and to guard against its consequences, sunk quietly beneath the surface, and allowed the current to carry him just the length of the canoe, when he again rose, with his head beneath its stem.  Resting here a moment, with his nose and eyes just in sight, he commenced drifting down-stream, inch by inch, until he caught a glimpse of the Miami’s head over the edge of the canoe when he returned to his former position under the stern and gathered his energies for the struggle.

Sustaining himself by his feet alone, he reached his hands upward, grasped the canoe in such a manner that it was firmly held on each side.  Holding it thus only long enough to make his hold sure, he pressed the stern quickly downward, and then by a sudden wrench threw the Miami upon his back in the water.  Letting go his hold, the Huron made a dash at him, and closing in the deadly embrace, the two went down—­down—­down—­till their feet struck the soft bottom, when they shot up again like two corks.

Imminent as was the peril of Oonomoo, his greatest fear was that their struggles would carry them below the rock, where the moonlight would discover them to the Miamis on the bank.  With a skill as wonderful as it was rare even among his own people, he regulated his movements while submerged, in such a manner that they operated to carry both combatants up-stream, had there been no current, so that when they came to the surface, it was very nearly in the same spot that they had gone down.

But Oonomoo and the Miami had whipped out their knives, and they raised them aloft at the same instant.  But neither descended.  They were still in the air, when the one spoke the simple word.  “Heigon!” and the other simultaneously with him uttered the name of “Oonomoo,” and the hands of both dropped beside them.  Without speaking, the Miami grasped the edge of the rock and clambered to the surface, and beckoned for the Huron to follow; but the latter held back, and whispered, in the tongue of his companion: