What was he to do?
Those men--his Uncle Bob's murderers--would go to his room; they would find his empty bed and their search for him would begin! Not for anything would he have gone back through the corn-field or the lane to the road.

He had the courage to go forward, but not to retrace his steps; and the river, deep and swift, barred his path.

As he glanced about, he saw almost at his feet a dug-out, made from a single poplar log.

It was secured to an overhanging branch by a length of wild grape-vine.

With one last fearful look off across the deadening in the direction of the tavern, he crept down to the water's edge and entered the canoe.