The cut in my
shoulder was raw and made me faint. It was not dangerous, but deep
enough to give me trouble, and would make my swimming slow, if, indeed,
I could swim at all. I felt the water swash against me and knew the
Indian was swimming back. There was only a thin wall of reeds between
us, and in a moment he would come to where the channels joined and see
my floating garments. I could not stop to secure them, though I had
hoped to tie them in a bundle on my back. I dropped under the water
and swam away.
I have often marveled how I distanced that Indian so easily. It may
have been his discomfort from the opiate, though I have never known how
much of what I splashed over him went into his mouth, nor what effect
it had. But after a little I heard no sound of pursuit. I thought
that perhaps the Indian had gone back to spread the alarm, and I took
no risks. I swam as fast as I had strength, resting occasionally by
holding on to the reeds, and trying to keep my course due northwest.
And hour by hour passed, and still I kept on swimming. It was torture
after the first. I could rest as often as I needed, but the cold water
palsied me, and I feared cramp. My shoulder was feverish, and the pain
of it sapped my strength.
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