"There are canoes making for the shore both ways," he said at last.
"It is time that my white brother should take the paddle."
Peter and Harold at once sat up in the boat and looked round the
lake, which at this point was about ten miles wide. The canoe was
four miles from the eastern side; the flotilla was a mile further up
the lake and the same distance nearer to the western shore. Four or
five canoes were detaching themselves from the flotilla, apparently
rowing direct for the shore. It would have been easy for the canoe to
have regained the eastern side long before she could have been cut
off, but here they might find the Chippewas. The Indians whose boat
they had taken would assuredly follow along the shores of the lake in
hopes that something might occur to drive them back. Besides, had
they landed there, they would be unable to carry in time the news of
the approaching attack upon St. John's. For the same reason it was
important to land up the lake near the Canadian end.
Peter rapidly took in the situation. He saw that it was possible, and
only just possible, to reach the shore at a point opposite to that at
which they now were before the hostile canoes could cut them off from
it. If they headed them there they would be obliged to run down to
the other end of the lake before effecting a landing, while he could
not calculate on being able to beat all the canoes, most of which
carried four paddlers, who would strain every nerve to retrieve their
failure of the previous day.
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