His arm was working free
and his knife unsheathed. I threw my whole weight on his chest,
released my clutch on his neck, and taking both hands, forced his mouth
open and dashed the contents of my laudanum vial down his throat. Then
I sprang into the water, dragging Indian and canoe after me.
I felt the slash of a knife in my right shoulder as I touched the
water, and the Indian's wiry grasp on my coat. I rolled and grappled
with him, and the canoe floated away. Hugging each other like twining
water snakes, we sank down through the reeds to the slimy ooze of the
bottom.
Down there we wrestled for a second, blinded and choking. Then
self-love conquered hate, and we kicked ourselves free and spluttered
to the surface. My shoulder was stinging, and I could not tell how
long I could depend on it. I made a desperate stroke or two, dived,
and put myself in the cover of the reeds.
The Indian splashed after me, but the water flowed through the reeds in
a dozen channels, and he took the wrong one. He would find his mistake
in a moment. I swam a few paces under water, then lay quiet, holding
myself up by the reeds, and keeping my mouth to the air. Piece by
piece I freed myself of my clothing and let it drop.
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