Elsie caught some significant splashing behind her.
"They are swimming towards the canoes," she screamed.
Telling Suarez to pull for all he was worth, Gray, clambered to the
stern of the boat and emptied the revolver at what he took to be the
black heads of the swimmers.
"Quick! Load it again," he said, and Elsie obeyed with a nimbleness
and certainty that were amazing.
The American fired three more shots before he was satisfied that the
canoes were untenanted and not cut adrift. They were now leaving the
pandemonium behind, and Elsie, bethinking herself of the dog, freed him
from that most objectionable muzzle. Joey forthwith awoke the welkin
with his uproar, but, although the girl strained her ears for some
answering hail, she could detect nothing beyond the bawling of Indians
at each other across the narrow creek, and the repeated echoes of the
dog's barking.
About this time Gray began to suspect that the tide was bearing them
onward at a remarkable rate. In the somber depths of the cleft or
canon it was difficult to discern stationary objects clearly enough to
obtain a means of estimating the pace of the stream.
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