They had spent the night upon a little island in midstream, and at early dawn they were about to thrust the canoe out again from the sand-lined cove in which she lay, when Ephraim Savage growled in his throat and pointed Out across the water.
A large canoe was coming up the river, flying along as quick as a dozen arms could drive it.

In the stern sat a dark figure which bent forward with every swing of the paddles, as though consumed by eagerness to push onwards.

Even at that distance there was no mistaking it.

It was the fanatical monk whom they had left behind them.
Concealed among the brushwood, they watched their pursuers fly past and vanish round a curve in the stream.

Then they looked at one another in perplexity.
"We'd have done better either to put him overboard or to take him as ballast," said Ephraim.