It was perhaps a half-hour after Oonomoo had commenced his descent of the river, that the canoe, without any perceptible jar, slid an inch or two down the bank.  So quietly and cautiously was this effected, that, had the Shawnees been looking directly at it, their suspicion would not have been aroused.

Some ten or fifteen minutes later, the boat moved about the same distance further.  The expectant Shawnees, clutching their rifles, were listening anxiously for some sound that might indicate the approach of their foe, and paid little heed to the canoe itself.  Ever and anon, it retreated an inch or two down the bank in the same mysterious manner—­going short distances and so very slowly that no one but a thoroughly suspicious Indian would have believed there was any human agency connected with it.

The canoe was fully an hour and a half in moving a single foot, during which time the Huron managed, by the most consummate skill, to sustain it in such a manner that the shrubbery and undergrowth around appeared to occupy relatively the same position that they did before it had been disturbed.  The river shore was only some twenty or thirty feet distant, and from where Oonomoo lay, the way was almost entirely clear to it, so that when he chose to make any sudden dash or movement, no hindering cause could possibly offer itself.

One of the Shawnees chanced to glance at the canoe.  At the same instant, his keen eye detected its changed position, imperceptible almost as it was.  With a guttural exclamation he arose and moved toward it, followed by his two companions.  They had taken scarcely a step, when they saw the boat slide swiftly forward several feet, and then suddenly rising to the perpendicular position, whisk off through the bush at a still more rapid rate.  Two twinkling moccasins, that looked as if they were its support, as they doubled over each other, fully explained to the Shawnees the cause of this singular scene.

With a loud yell, the three dashed forward, while the Huron ran at the top of his speed over the slight distance that lay between him and the river.  Reaching the shore, he changed the canoe from his rear to his front, and holding it like a shield above and before him.  With one foot in the edge of the water, he concentrated all his strength for the effort and leaped far out in the stream—­the canoe falling with a loud splash perfectly flat upon the surface.  The impetus thus given caused it to shoot like an arrow for a long distance, when the Huron, inclining his body to the left, careened it so much, that his own person was concealed from any who might be upon the shore, while, by reaching his hand over into the current, he was enabled to use it as a paddle, and continue his onward motion.