Just at this critical instant, when almost certain death threatened Barnabas, a fortunate thing happened. The bow of the Tory's canoe struck a half-submerged rock, and the sudden jar spoiled his aim, so that the bullet pa.s.sed a foot above his intended victim.

In the twinkling of an eye the long craft swung around, lodged fore and aft across a narrow pa.s.sage of the falls, and turned bottom up. Out went Gla.s.s, head-first into the foaming waves on the lower side.

There was no time for his pursuers to sheer off, and scarcely an instant later the second canoe crashed into the obstruction and swung broadside against it, though luckily without capsizing. But the shock pitched Barnabas out of the bow, and with a vain attempt to grab the canoe in front he glided off the slippery bottom, and was borne down the stretch of boiling rapids. The lads caught a brief glimpse of him as he b.u.mped into Gla.s.s, who had lodged on a spur of rock twenty feet away. Then both were washed off by the furious current, locked together in a desperate struggle, and the gloom hid them from view.

"Barnabas will be drowned!" cried Nathan. "And we can't do anything to save him! We're stuck tight!"

"We've got to get loose!" exclaimed G.o.dfrey, and with his paddle he struck the forward boat a terrific blow. To his delight it grated free at the stern end and whirled around, and that quickly the two canoes were bounding side by side amid the perilous falls, swinging this way and that, leaping high over crested waves, and rebounding from the cruel rap of hidden ledges.

Any attempt at steering was out of the question in so mad a current, but the lads hardly thought of the danger. Before they could realize it, their canoe had dashed safely down the roaring, raging slope, and was cleaving the choppy little waves that marked the even flow of the river beyond the rapids.

With anxious hearts, and with a fear that they dared not put into words, Nathan and G.o.dfrey paddled swiftly along on the current, eagerly watching ahead and out toward mid-channel, and over to the near-by wooded sh.o.r.e. The moon was under clouds again, and the surface of the river was misty. Frequently they shouted the name of the missing man, but only the sullen voice of the rapids answered.

When they had gone nearly a mile, some lingering hope persuaded them to turn back. So they pushed up along the sh.o.r.e from eddy to eddy, scanning every patch of sand and gravel, every clump of bushes, and constantly calling Barnabas by name. Hope was utterly dead when they drew near the falls, and now Nathan grounded the canoe in a little cove. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he was not ashamed of them. "We've got to face the worst," he said, hoa.r.s.ely. "Barnabas is drowned. He and Gla.s.s perished together."

"Yes, there's no doubt of it," a.s.sented G.o.dfrey. "I'm awfully sorry for you."

"If we could only find the body," said Nathan.

"But we can't," G.o.dfrey replied. "The water seems to be deep around here, and they both must have gone to the bottom. They may not come to the top for a day or two."

Nathan groaned. "This is terrible," he exclaimed. "I can hardly believe it. To think that Barnabas is dead--that we will never see him again!

You don't know how brave and n.o.ble he was--"

"Yes, I learned that much during the last few days," interrupted G.o.dfrey. "Believe me, Nathan, I am as sorry as you are. To know such a man as Barnabas Otter makes me feel sometimes that your cause will triumph."

Nathan silently clasped the other's hand and for some minutes the two lads sat without speaking, gazing over the misty waters and listening to the sad music of the falls. Then both heard a distant and m.u.f.fled clatter of hoofs.

"Hors.e.m.e.n!" exclaimed Nathan, "and they are coming up the river road. I must see them."

"But there may be danger," remonstrated G.o.dfrey.

"No, not in this neighborhood. It is too close to the fort and to Harris's Ferry. Come on, G.o.dfrey!"

They sprang out of the canoe and clambered up the wooded bank, reaching the road just as two wagons came along, escorted by six mounted men.

Nathan halted the party, and after briefly explaining that he and his companion were fugitives from Wyoming, he told what had happened that night at Fort Hunter. The victims of the tragedy were known by name to the men, and they expressed genuine sorrow for the death of Barnabas, as well as heartfelt relief at the termination of Simon Gla.s.s's infamous career.

"We're bound for Shamokin fort with supplies sent by the commissary-general of Pennsylvania," stated the leader of the party. "I suppose you lads will go along back with us to Hunter's? Just hop into the wagons yonder."

Before either could reply one of the men in the rear dismounted and came forward. With an exclamation of surprise he clapped Nathan on the shoulder.

"Corporal Dubbs!" cried the lad. "How did you get here?"

"Why, you know I was on the sick-list the morning the Wyoming troops left camp," the corporal explained, "and when I got a little better the general sent me to the Board of War with dispatches. Then I learned that my brother was lying up at McKee's fort with a bullet wound he got at Wyoming, and I'm on my way there now to see him."

"And was there any news of my father when you left camp?" Nathan asked impatiently.

"That's what I want to tell you," replied the corporal, drawing the lad aside. "Your father is lying at the house of a loyal farmer named Welfare. His place is near the head of the Shrewsbury River, and not far from Monmouth. Welfare himself brought word to the camp the day I left.

He said the captain was badly hurt, and wouldn't be able to be moved for a month."

Nathan was speechless with joy for a moment. "Then my father is really alive?" he cried. "I was sure of it. And do you think he is still at the farmhouse?"

"I'm pretty certain he is," replied the corporal. "I don't know how he came there, or anything about his injuries, but you may count on it, he is in good hands."

"I'm going straight to him," declared Nathan. "I'll travel day and night."

Corporal Dubbs nodded approvingly. "That's the best thing you can do,"

he said. "The sight of you, lad, will be better than medicine for the captain. There's a stage from Harris's Ferry to Philadelphia in the morning. You can catch it if you hurry. Don't forget the place, and be sure you ask for Jonas Welfare. And be careful when you get in the neighborhood of the Shrewsbury, for the enemy are making raids over that way from New York."

"I'll remember," a.s.sented Nathan. "I must go now. We have a canoe below, and I mean to catch that stage. Will you tell Sergeant Murdock at Fort Hunter that Barnabas is dead and ask him to find the body and--and--bury it--"

The lad's voice broke, and for a moment he could not speak.

"In Barnabas's left boot," he added, "is a packet of papers that he was taking care of for me. They belong to my father. Will you ask the sergeant to keep them until they are sent for?"

Corporal Dubbs readily promised, and with a hearty clasp of the lad's hand he mounted and rode after the now moving wagon-train.

Nathan and G.o.dfrey hurried back to the canoe and were soon paddling swiftly down the river. The roar of the falls faded behind them, and when a curve hid the fatal spot from view, Nathan turned with tear-dimmed eyes for a last look.

"You forgot about Noah Waxpenny," said G.o.dfrey, when the lads had paddled some distance in silence.

"So I did!" exclaimed Nathan. "I hope Sergeant Murdock won't catch him, and if he does I don't believe he will dare to hang him. As for that mystery--why, I'll get my father to explain it."

"Then you are going straight to see him?"

"Straight," declared Nathan. "You heard what Corporal Dubbs told me. I'm going to travel as fast as I can. And what will you do, G.o.dfrey, I don't want to part--"

"Nor do I," G.o.dfrey said hastily. "At least not yet. If I thought I could safely accompany you--"

"You can," interrupted Nathan. "I'm sure of that. And I want my father to meet you."

G.o.dfrey smiled sadly. "I'll go with you," he replied, "and then I'll watch for a chance to take boat from the Shrewsbury to New York. I intend to report to Major Langdon, come what may."

"I suppose that's the best thing you can do," a.s.sented Nathan, "but I was hoping you might have changed your mind about--"

A look on G.o.dfrey's face made him stop thus abruptly, and for half an hour nothing was said. Then the day began to dawn, and about the time it was fully light the stockade and houses of Harris's Ferry hove in sight around a bend of the river.

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH A PEEP AT THE STATE-HOUSE LEADS TO AN UGLY ADVENTURE

Harris's Ferry--now the populous capital city of Harrisburg--was, in 1778, a small and unimportant place. John Harris, an old Indian trader and the founder of the town, lived here. Some years before, he had made the acquaintance of Captain Stanbury, when the latter stopped at the ferry on a trip from Philadelphia to Wyoming. Nathan was aware of this fact, and resolved to make use of it at such a time of need. So, after the lads had landed and given their canoe in charge of an old boatman, they climbed the river bank and presented themselves at the door of John Harris's big stone mansion.

The old trader was at breakfast, early as was the hour, and he gave his visitors a cordial greeting even before he had heard their story.