There was no sign of the canoes!
For a few moments he remained motionless, drifting back with the
slow current of the stream, stunned by the thought that he had
allowed Jeanne's captors to escape him. Had they heard him and
dropped in to shore to let him pass? He swung his canoe about and
headed down-stream. In that case he could not miss them, if he
used caution. But if they had turned into some creek hidden in the
gloom--were even now picking their way through a secret channel
that led back from the river--
A groan burst from his lips as he thought of Jeanne. In that half
mile of river he could surely find where the canoes had gone, but
it might be too late. He went down in mid-stream, searching the
shadows of both shores. His heart sank like lead when he came to
the lake. There was but one thing to do now, and he ran his canoe
close along the right-hand shore, looking for an opening. His
progress was slow. A dozen times he entangled himself in masses of
reeds and rice, or thrust himself under over-hanging tree-tops
and vines to investigate the deeper gloom beyond. He had returned
two-thirds of the distance to the straight-water where he had
given up the pursuit when the bow of his canoe ran upon a smooth,
sandy bar that shelved out thirty or forty feet from the shore.
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