the paddles, and paddled for their lives until dusk. Poorly boiled rice with brown sugar alleviated their faintness. “There are rapids ahead, and the Indians will pick those blocks for an ambush,” explained Ze. “When we come to a rapid, twelve of you men get out and go by land to protect those who manipulate the canoes,” Harry said. “Harold will be the first in the line that goes overland. Tom will show you how to manage the canoes. I’ll bring up the rear.” Harry said, “Listen, don’t forget to keep looking back to see if I’m still coming.” The men walked all morning long, expecting to be ambushed at any moment. Harry, being the last, often imagined they were upon him. Just past noon Harry spied three painted warriors again watching them from a promontory. They motioned for him to come to them. Something wary in their manner warned him that no good was intended. He called, “Fellows, don’t anybody shoot. Everyone head for the canoes, and let’s see if we can make time.” There was a rush to the river, and the men bent all their strength to the paddles. But the attack was on. Arrows came thick and fast from every direction. They were some four feet in length, cruelly pointed, well aimed and shot with amazing strength. “Thou shalt not be afraid for the arrow that flieth by
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