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The reeds and rushes grew high in the swamp. Great overhanging trees shut out the sun and made the place dark and gloomy. Here and there muskrat houses appeared and more than once these ratlike denizens of the marshes could be seen hastening to cover at the approach of the canoe. Everything was so still that it had a pronounced effect on the three men in the canoe, as they wound their way in and out along the narrow waterways.

Deerfoot seemed perfectly sure of his course and did not once hesitate as he skillfully maneuvered the frail craft through the swamp. In absolute silence they progressed, the hoarse croak of a heron disturbed by their approach being the only sound to break the stillness.

The narrow channel suddenly turned sharply to the right and a small lagoon appeared before the eyes of the three fugitives. In the center of the little lake was an island about a hundred feet square and heavily wooded.

“There place,” said Deerfoot calmly.

“Can we land there?” questioned Robert doubtfully. “It looks pretty swampy to me.”