He chuckled again as he pictured the probable course of events on shore.

Cassidy, backed by the law, was demanding another canoe and a necessary outfit of Slim Buck.
Slim Buck, falling back on his tribal dignity, was killing all possible time in making the preparations.

When pursuit was resumed Jolly Roger would have at least a mile the start of the red-headed nemesis who hung to his trail.

And Wollaston Lake, sixty miles from end to end, and half as wide, offered plenty of room in which to find safety.
The rising of the wind, which came from the south and west, was pleasing to Jolly Roger, and he put less caution and more force into the sweep of his paddle.

For two hours he kept steadily eastward, and then swung a little north, guiding himself by the stars.