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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

In a moment another wild whoop came
rushing over the water. Thinking it might be somebody in trouble
we worked about and pulled for the mouth of the inlet. Suddenly I
saw a boat coming in the dead timber. There were three men in it,
two of whom were paddling. They yelled like mad men as they
caught sight of us, and one of them waved a bottle in the air.
'They're Indians,' said Uncle Eb. 'Drunk as lords. Guess we'd better
git out o' the way.'
I put about and with a hearty pull made for the other side of the
lake, three miles away. The Indians came after us, their yells
echoing in the far forest. Suddenly one of them lifted his rifle, as if
taking aim at us, and, bang it went the ball ricocheting across our
bows.
'Crazy drunk,' said Uncle Eb, 'an' they're in fer trouble. Pull with all
yer might.'
I did that same putting my arms so stiffly to their task I feared the
oars would break.
In a moment another ball came splintering the gunwales right
between us, but fortunately, well above the water line.


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