[Transcriber's Note: Obvious errors in the text have been corrected. Changes have also been made to make spelling, hyphenation, andpunctuation use consistent. A full list of changes is at the end of thetext. ]

 THE WOMAN _from_ "OUTSIDE" [On Swan River]

 By HULBERT FOOTNER Author of "The Fur Bringers" etc. 

 THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY _Publishers_ _New York_

 Copyright, 1921 by THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY All Rights Reserved

 PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I THE WHITE MEDICINE MAN 1 II HOOLIAM 15 III THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR 24 IV MORE ABOUT CLARE 35 V THE FIRST STAGE 46 VI THE KAKISAS 59 VII ON THE RIVER 68 VIII THE LOG SHACK 83 IX THE FOOT 96 X THE START HOME 111 XI THE MYSTERY 129 XII IMBRIE 139 XIII THE RESCUE 154 XIV PURSUIT 172 XV UPS AND DOWNS 192 XVI THE LAST STAGE ON SWAN RIVER 212 XVII THE HEARING 243 XVIII A LETTER FROM MAJOR EGERTON TO HIS FRIEND ARTHUR DONCOURT, ESQ. 256 EPILOGUE 264

THE WOMAN FROM OUTSIDE

CHAPTER I

THE WHITE MEDICINE MAN

On a January afternoon, as darkness was beginning to gather, the "gang"sat around the stove in the Company store at Fort Enterprise discussingthat inexhaustible question, the probable arrival of the mail. The biglofty store, with its glass front, its electric lights, its stock ofexpensive goods set forth on varnished shelves, suggested a cityemporium rather than the Company's most north-westerly post, nearly athousand miles from civilization; but human energy accomplishes seemingmiracles in the North as elsewhere, and John Gaviller the trader wasabove all an energetic man. Throughout the entire North they point withpride to Gaviller's flour mill, his big steamboat, his great yellowclap-boarded house--two storeys and attic, and a fence of palings aroundit! Why, at Fort Enterprise they even have a sidewalk, the only onenorth of fifty-five!

"I don't see why Hairy Ben can't come down, " said Doc Giddings--Doc wasthe grouch of the post--"the ice on the river has been fit fortravelling for a month now. "

"Ben can't start from the Crossing until the mail comes through fromthe Landing, " said Gaviller. "It can't start from the Landing until theice is secure on the Big River, the Little River, and across CaribouLake. " Gaviller was a handsome man of middle life, who took exceedinggood care of himself, and ruled his principality with an amiablerelentlessness. They called him the "Czar, " and it did not displeasehim. 

"Everybody knows Caribou Lake freezes over first, " grumbled the doctor. 

"But the rivers down there are swift, and it's six hundred miles southof here. Give them time. "

"The trouble is, they wait until the horse-road is made over the icebefore starting the mail in. If the Government had the enterprise of aground-hog they'd send in dogs ahead. "

"Nobody uses dogs down there any more. "

"Well, I say 'tain't right to ask human beings to wait three months fortheir mail. Who knows what may have happened since the freeze-up lastOctober?"

"What's happened has happened, " said Father Goussard mildly, "andknowing about it can't change it. "

The doctor ignored the proffered consolation. "What we need is a newmail-man, " he went on bitterly. "I know Hairy Ben! I'll bet he's had themail at the Crossing for a week, and puts off starting every day forfear of snow. "

"Well, 'tain't a job as I'd envy any man, " put in Captain Stinson of thesteamboat _Spirit River_, now hauled out on the shore. "Breaking a roadfor three hundred and fifty mile, and not a stopping-house the whole waytill he gets to the Beaver Indians at Carcajou Point. "

The doctor addressed himself to the policeman, who was mending asnowshoe in the background. "Stonor, you've got the best dogs in thepost; why don't you go up after him?"

The young sergeant raised his head with a grin. He was a good-looking, long-limbed youth with a notable blue eye, and a glance of mirthfulsobriety. "No, thanks, " he drawled. The others gathered from his tonethat a joke was coming, and pricked up their ears accordingly. "No, thanks. You forget that Sarge Lambert up at the Crossing is my senior. When I drove up he'd say: 'What the hell are you doing up here?' Andwhen I told him he'd come back with his well-known embellishments oflanguage: 'Has the R. N. W. M. P. Nothing better to do than tote DocGiddings' love-letters?'"

A great laugh greeted this sally: they are so grateful for the smallestof jokes on winter afternoons up North. 

Doc Giddings subsided, but the discussion went on without him. 

"Well, he'll have easy going in from Carcajou; the Indians coming in andout have beaten a good trail. "

"Oh, when he gets to Carcajou he's here. "

"If it don't snow. That bit over the prairie drifts badly. "

"The barometer's falling. "

And so on. And so on. They made the small change of conversation go far. 

In the midst of it they were electrified by a shout from the land trailand the sound of bells. 

"Here he is!" they cried, jumping up to a man, and making for the door. 

Ben Causton, conscious of his importance, made a dramatic entrance withthe mail-bags over his shoulder, and cast them magnificently on thecounter. Even up north, where every man cultivates his own peculiaritiesunhindered, Ben was considered a "character. " He was a short, thick manof enormous physical strength, and he sported a beard like a quicksethedge, hence his nickname. He was clad in an entire suit of fur like anEskimo, with a gaudy red worsted sash about his ample middle. 

"Hello, Ben! Gee! but you're slow!"

"Hello, fellows! Keep your hair on! If you want to send out forcatalogues in the middle of winter you're lucky if I get here at all. Next month, if the second class bag's as heavy as this, I'll drop itthrough an air-hole--I swear I will! So now you're warned! I got somepinbetter to do than tote catalogues. When I die and go to hell, I onlyhope I meet the man who invented mail-order catalogues there, that'sall. "

"You're getting feeble, Ben!"

"I got strength enough left to put your head in chancery!"

"What's the news of the world, Ben?"

"Sarge Lambert's got a bone felon. Ally Stiff lost a sow and a wholelitter through the ice up there. Mahooly of the French outfit at theSettlement's gone out to get him a set of chiny teeth. Says he's goingto get blue ones to dazzle the Indians. Oh, and I almost forgot; down atOttawa the Grits are out and the Tories in. "

"Bully!"

"God help Canada!"

While Gaviller unlocked the bags, Ben went out to tie up his dogs andfeed them. The trader handed out letters to the eager, extended hands, that trembled a little. Brightening eyes pounced on the superscriptions. Gaviller himself had a daughter outside being "finished, " the apple ofhis eye: Captain Stinson had a wife, and Mathews the engineer, anelderly sweetheart. The dark-skinned Gordon Strange, Gaviller's clerk, carried on an extensive correspondence, the purport of which was unknownto the others, and Father Goussard was happy in the receipt of manyletters from his confrères. Even young Stonor was excited, who had noone in the world to write to him but a married sister who sent himlong, dutiful chronicles of small beer. But it was from "home. "

The second-class bag with the papers was scarcely less exciting. Tooblige Ben they only took one newspaper between them, and passed itaround, but in this mail three months' numbers had accumulated. As thecontents of the bag cascaded out on the counter, Stonor picked up anunfamiliar-looking magazine. 

"Hello, what's this?" he cried, reading the label in surprise. "DoctorErnest Imbrie. Who the deuce is he?"

"Must have come here by mistake, " said Gaviller. 

"Not a bit of it! Here's the whole story: Doctor Ernest Imbrie, FortEnterprise, Spirit River, Athabasca. "

It passed around from hand to hand. A new name was something to catchthe attention at Fort Enterprise. 

"Why, here's another!" cried Gaviller in excitement. "And another! Blestif half the bag isn't for him! And all addressed just so!"

They looked at each other a little blankly. All this evidence had theeffect of creating an apparition there in their midst. There was anappreciable silence. 

"Must be somebody who started in last year and never got through, " saidMathews. He spoke with an air of relief at discovering so reasonable anexplanation. 

"But we hear about everybody who comes north of the Landing, " objectedGaviller. "I would have been advised if he had a credit here. "

"Another doctor!" said Doc Giddings bitterly. "If he expects to share mypractice he's welcome!"

At another time they would have laughed at this, but the mystery teasedthem. They resented the fact that some rank outsider claimed FortEnterprise for his post-office, without first having made himselfknown. 

"If he went back outside, he'd stop all this stuff coming in, you'dthink. "

"Maybe somebody's just putting up a joke on us. "

"Funny kind of joke! Subscriptions to these magazines cost money. "

Stonor read off the titles of the magazines: "_The Medical Record_; _TheAmerican Medical Journal_; _The Physician's and Surgeon's Bulletin_. "

"Quite a scientific guy, " said Doctor Giddings, with curling lip. 

"Strange, he gets so many papers and not a single letter!" remarkedFather Goussard. "A friendless man!"

Gaviller picked up a round tin, one of several packed and addressedalike. He read the business card of a well-known tobacconist. "Smokingtobacco!" he said indignantly. "If the Company's Dominion Mixture isn'tgood enough for any man I'd like to know it! He has a cheek, if you askme, bringing in tobacco under my very nose!"

"Tobacco!" cried Stonor. "It's all very well about papers, but no manwould waste good tobacco! It must be somebody who started in beforeBen!"

Their own mail matter, that they had looked forward to so impatiently, was forgotten now. 

When Ben Causton came back they bombarded him with questions. But thisbag had come through locked all the way from Miwasa Landing, and Ben, even Ben, the great purveyor of gossip in the North, had heard nothingof any Doctor Imbrie on his way in. Ben was more excited and moreindignant than any of them. Somebody had got ahead of him in spreading asensation!

"It's a hoe-axe, " said Ben. "It's them fellows down at the Landingtrying to get a rise out of me. Or if it ain't that, it's some guycomin' in next spring, and sendin' in his outfit piecemeal ahead of him. And me powerless to protect myself! Ain't that an outrage! But when Imeet him on the trail I'll put it to him!"

"There are newspapers here, too, " Stonor pointed out. "No man coming innext spring would send himself last year's papers. "

"Where is he, then?" they asked. 

The question was unanswerable. 

"Well, I'd like to see any lily-handed doctor guy from the outside facethe river trail in the winter, " said Ben bitterly. "If he'll do that, I'll carry his outfit for him. But he'll need more than his diploma tofit him for it. "

At any rate they had a brand-new subject for conversation at the post. 

 * * * * *

About a week later, when Hairy Ben had started back up the river, theroutine at the post was broken by the arrival of a small party of KakisaIndians from the Kakisa or Swan River, a large unexplored stream off tothe north-west. The Kakisas, an uncivilized and shy race, rarelyappeared at Enterprise, and in order to get their trade Gaviller hadformerly sent out a half-breed clerk to the Swan River every winter. Butthis man had lately died, and now the trade threatened to lapse for thelack of an interpreter. None of the Kakisas could speak English, andthere was no company employee who could speak their uncouth tongueexcept Gordon Strange the bookkeeper, who could not be spared from thepost. 

Wherefore Gaviller welcomed these six, in the hope that they might proveto be the vanguard of the main body. They were a wild and ragged lot, under the leadership of a withered elder called Mahtsonza. They werediscovered by accident camping under cover of a poplar bluff across theriver. No one knew how long they had been there, and Gordon Strange hada time persuading them to come the rest of the way. It was dusk whenthey entered the store, and Gaviller, by pre-arrangement with Mathews, clapped his hands and the electric lights went on. The effect surpassedhis expectations. The Kakisas, with a gasp of terror, fled, and couldnot be tempted to return until daylight. 

They brought a good little bundle of fur, including two silver foxskins, the finest seen at Enterprise that season. They laid their fur onthe counter, and sidled about the store silent and abashed, likechildren in a strange house. With perfectly wooden faces they took inall the wonders out of the corners of their eyes; the scales, the stove, the pictures on the canned goods, the show-cases of jewellery and candy. Candy they recognized, and, again like children, they discussed therespective merits of the different varieties in their own tongue. Gaviller, warned by his first mistake, affected to take no notice ofthem. 

The Kakisas had been in the store above an hour when Mahtsonza, withoutwarning, produced a note from the inner folds of his dingy capote, and, handling it gingerly between thumb and forefinger, silently offered itto Gaviller. The trader's eyes almost started out of his head. 

"A letter!" he cried stupidly. "Where the hell did you get that?--Boys!Look here! A note from Swan River! Who in thunder at Swan River canwrite a white man's hand?"

Stonor, Doc Giddings, Strange, and Mathews, who were in the store, hastened to him. 

"Who's it addressed to?" asked the policeman. 

"Just to the Company. Whoever wrote it didn't have the politeness to putmy name down. "

"Maybe he doesn't know you. "

"How could that be?" asked Gaviller, with raised eyebrows. 

"Open it! Open it!" said Doc Giddings irritably. 

Gaviller did so, and his face expressed a still greater degree ofastonishment. "Ha! Here's our man!" he cried. 

"Imbrie!" they exclaimed in unison. 

"Listen!" He read from the note. 

 "GENTLEMEN--I am sending you two silver fox skins, for which please give me credit. I enclose an order for supplies, to be sent by bearer. Also be good enough to hand the bearer any mail matter which may be waiting for me. 

 "Yours truly, "ERNEST IMBRIE. "

The silence of stupefaction descended on them. The only gateway to theSwan River lay through Enterprise. How could a man have got therewithout their knowing it? Stupefaction was succeeded by resentment. 

"Will I be good enough to hand over his mail?" sneered Gaviller. "Whatkind of elegant language is this from Swan River?"

"Sounds like a regular Percy, " said Strange, who always echoed hischief. 

"Funny place for a Percy to set up, " said Stonor drily. 

"He orders flour, sugar, beans, rice, coffee, tea, baking-powder, salt, and dried fruit, " said Gaviller, as if that were a fresh cause ofoffence. 

"He has an appetite, then, " said Stonor, "he's no ghost. "

Suddenly they fell upon Mahtsonza with a bombardment of questions, forgetting that the Indian could speak no English. He shrank backaffrighted. 

"Wait a minute, " said Strange. "Let me talk to him. "

He conferred for awhile with Mahtsonza in the strange, clicking tongueof the Kakisas. Gaviller soon became impatient. 

"Tell us as he goes along, " he said. "Never mind waiting for the end ofthe story. "

"They can't tell you anything directly, " said Strange deprecatingly;"there's nothing to do but let them tell a story in their own way. He'stelling me now that Etzooah, a man with much hair, who hunts down theSwan River near the beginning of the swift water, came up to the villageat the end of the horse-track on snowshoes and dragging a little sled. Etzooah had the letter for Gaviller, but he was tired out, so he handedit to Mahtsonza, who had dogs, to bring it the rest of the way, and gaveMahtsonza a mink-skin for his trouble. "

"Never mind all that, " said Gaviller impatiently. "What about the whiteman?"

Strange conferred again with Mahtsonza, while Gaviller bit his nails. 

"Mahtsonza says, " he reported, "that Imbrie is a great White MedicineMan who has done honour to the Kakisa people by coming among them toheal the sick and do good. Mahtsonza says he has not seen Imbriehimself, because when he came among the Indians last fall Mahtsonza wasoff hunting on the upper Swan, but all the people talk about him andwhat strong medicine he makes. "

"Conjure tricks!" muttered Doc Giddings. 

"Where does he live?" demanded Gaviller. 

Strange asked the question and reported the answer. "He has builthimself a shack beside the Great Falls of the Swan River. Mahtsonza saysthat the people know his medicine is strong because he is not afraid tolive with the voice of the Great Falls. "

Stonor asked the next question. "What sort of man is he?"

Strange, after putting the question, said: "Mahtsonza says he's verygood-looking, or, as he puts it, a pretty man. He says he looks young, but he may be as old as the world, because with such strong medicine hecould make himself look like anything he wanted. He says that the WhiteMedicine Man talks much with dried words in covers--I suppose he meansbooks. "

"Ask him what proof he has given them that his medicine is strong, "suggested Stonor. 

Strange translated Mahtsonza's answer as follows: "Last year when thebush berries were ripe (that's August) all the Indians down the rivergot sick. Water came out of their eyes and nose; their skin got as redas sumach and burned like fire. "

"Measles, " said Gaviller. "The Beavers had it, too. They take it hard. "

Strange continued: "Mahtsonza says many of them died. They just lay downand gave up hope. Etzooah was the only Kakisa who had seen the WhiteMedicine Man up to that time, and he went to him and asked him to makemedicine to cure the sick. So the White Medicine Man came back withEtzooah to the village down the river. He had good words and a soft handto the sick. He made medicine, and, behold! the sick arose and werewell!"

"Faith cure!" muttered Doc Giddings. 

"How long has Imbrie been down there by the Falls?" asked Gaviller. 

"Mahtsonza says he came last summer when the ground berries were ripe. That would be about July. "

"Did he come down the river from the mountains?"

"Mahtsonza says no. Nobody on the river saw him go down. "

"Where did he come from, then?"

"Mahtsonza says he doesn't know. Nobody knows. Some say he came fromunder the falls where the white bones lie. Some say it is the voice ofthe falls that comes among men in the shape of a man. "

"Rubbish! A ghost doesn't subscribe to medical journals!" said DocGiddings. 

"He orders flour, sugar, beans, " said Gaviller. 

When this was explained to Mahtsonza the Indian shrugged. Strange said:"Mahtsonza says if he takes a man's shape he's got to feed it. "

"Pshaw!" said Gaviller impatiently. "He must have come up the river. Itis known that the Swan River empties into Great Buffalo Lake. The Lakecan't be more than a hundred miles below the falls. No white man hasever been through that way, but somebody's got to be the first. "

"But we know every white man who ever went down to Great Buffalo Lake, "said Doc Giddings. "Certainly there never was a doctor there except thepolice doctor who makes the round with the treaty outfit every summer. "

"Well, it's got me beat!" said Gaviller, scratching his head. 

"Maybe it's someone wanted by the police outside, " suggested GordonStrange, "who managed to sneak into the country without attractingnotice. "

"He's picked out a bad place to hide, " said Stonor grimly. "He'll bewell advertised up here. "

 * * * * *

Stonor had a room in the "quarters, " a long, low barrack of logs on theside of the quadrangle facing the river. It had been the trader'sresidence before the days of the big clap-boarded villa. Stonor, tiringof the conversation around the stove, frequently spent the evenings infront of his own fire, and here he sometimes had a visitor, to wit, ToleGrampierre, youngest son of Simon, the French half-breed farmer up theriver. Tole came of good, self-respecting native stock, and was in hisown person a comely, sensible youngster a few years younger than thetrooper. Tole was the nearest thing to a young friend that Stonorpossessed in the post. They were both young enough to have someillusions left. They talked of things they would have blushed to exposeto the cynicism of the older men. 

Stonor sat in his barrel chair that he had made himself, and Tole sat onthe floor nursing his knees. Both were smoking Dominion mixture. 

Said Tole: "Stonor, what you make of this Swan River mystery?"

"Oh, anything can be a mystery until you learn the answer. I don't seewhy a man shouldn't settle out on Swan River if he has a mind to. "

"Why do all the white men talk against him?"

"Don't ask me. I doubt if they could tell you themselves. When men talkin a crowd they get started on a certain line and go on from bad toworse without thinking what they mean by it. "

"Our people just the same that way, I guess, " said Tole. 

"I'm no better, " said Stonor. "I don't know how it is, but fellows in acrowd seem to be obliged to talk more foolishly than they think inprivate. "

"You don't talk against him, Stonor. "

The policeman laughed. "No, I stick up for him. It gets the othersgoing. As a matter of fact, I'd like to know this Imbrie. For one thing, he's young like ourselves, Tole. And he must be a decent sort, to curethe Indians, and all that. They're a filthy lot, what we've seen ofthem. "

"Gaviller says he's going to send an outfit next spring to rout him outof his hole. Gaviller says he's a cash trader. "

Stonor chuckled. "Gaviller hates a cash trader worse than a devil withhorns. It's nonsense anyway. What would the Kakisas do with cash? Thistalk of sending in an expedition will all blow over before spring. "

"Stonor, what for do you think he lives like that by himself?"

"I don't know. Some yarn behind it, I suppose. Very likely a woman atthe bottom of it. He's young. Young men do foolish things. Perhaps he'dbe thankful for a friend now. "

"White men got funny ideas about women, I think. "

"I suppose it seems so. But where did you get that idea?"

"Not from the talk at the store. I have read books. Love-stories. Pringle the missionary lend me a book call _Family Herald_ with manylove-stories in it. From that I see that white men always go crazy aboutwomen. "

Stonor laughed aloud. 

"Stonor, were you ever real crazy about a woman?"

The trooper shook his head--almost regretfully, one might have said. "The right one never came my way, Tole. "

"You don't like the girls around here. "

"Yes, I do. Nice girls. Pretty, too. But well, you see, they're not thesame colour as me. "

"Just the same, they are crazy about you. "

"Nonsense!"

"Yes, they are. Call you 'Gold-piece. ' Us fellows got no chance if youwant them. "

"Tell me about the stories you read, Tole. "

Tole refused to be diverted from his subject. "Stonor, I think you wouldlike to be real crazy about a woman. "

"Maybe, " said the other dreamily. "Perhaps life would seem less emptythen. "

"Would you go bury yourself among the Indians for a woman?"

"I hardly think so, " said Stonor, smiling. "Though you never can tellwhat you might do. But if I got turned down, I suppose I'd want to be asbusy as possible to help forget it. "

"Well, I think that Imbrie is crazy for sure. "

"It takes all kinds to make a world. If I can get permission I'm goingout to see him next summer. "

CHAPTER II

HOOLIAM

When the spring days came around, Stonor, whose business it was to keepwatch on such things, began to perceive an undercurrent of waywardnessamong the Indians and breeds of the post. Teachers know how an epidemicof naughtiness will sweep a class; this was much the same thing. Therewas no actual outbreak; it was chiefly evinced in defiant looks and animpudent swagger. It was difficult to trace back, for the red peoplehang together solidly; a man with even a trace of red blood will rarelyadmit a white man into the secrets of the race. Under questioning theymaintain a bland front that it is almost impossible to break down. Stonor had long ago learned the folly of trying to get at what he wantedby direct questioning. 

He finally, as he thought, succeeded in locating the source of theinfection at Carcajou Point. Parties from the post rode up there withsuspicious frequency, and came back with a noticeably lowered moraltone, licking their lips, so to speak. All the signs pointed to whisky. 

At dawn of a morning in May, Stonor, without having advertised hisintention, set off for Carcajou on horseback. The land trail cut acrossa wide sweep of the river, and on horseback one could make it in a day, whereas it was a three days' paddle up-stream. Unfortunately he couldn'ttake them by surprise, for Carcajou was on the other side of the riverfrom Enterprise, and Stonor must wait on the shore until they came overafter him. 

As soon as he left the buildings of the post behind him Stonor's heartwas greatly lifted up. It was his first long ride of the season. Thetrail led him through the poplar bush back to the bench, thence in abee-line across the prairie. The sun rose as he climbed the bench. Theprairie was not the "bald-headed" so dear to those who know it, but wasdiversified with poplar bluffs, clumps of willow, and wild-rose-scrub inthe hollows. The crocuses were in bloom, the poplar trees hanging outmillions of emerald pendants, and the sky showed that exquisite, tenderluminousness that only the northern sky knows when the sun travelstowards the north. Only singing-birds were lacking to complete the idylof spring. Stonor, all alone in a beautiful world, lifted up his voiceto supply the missing praise. 

Towards sunset he approached the shore of the river opposite CarcajouPoint, but as he didn't wish to arrive at night, he camped withinshelter of the woods. In the morning he signalled for a boat. They cameafter him in a dug-out, and he swam his horse across. 

A preliminary survey of the place revealed nothing out of the way. Thepeople who called themselves Beaver Indians were in reality thescourings of half the tribes in the country, and it is doubtful if therewas an individual of pure red race among them. Physically they were asad lot, for Nature revenges herself swiftly on the offspring ofhybrids. Quaint ethnological differences were exhibited in the samefamily; one brother would have a French physiognomy, another a Scottishcast of feature, and a third the thick lips and flattened nose of anegro. Their village was no less nondescript than its inhabitants, merely a straggling row of shacks, thrown together anyhow, and roofedwith sods, now putting forth a brave growth of weeds. These houses wereintended for a winter residence only. In summer they "pitched around. "At present they were putting their dug-outs and canoes in order for amigration. 

Stonor was received on the beach by Shose (Joseph) Cardinal, a fine, up-standing ancient of better physique than his sons and grandsons. In acommunity of hairless men he was further distinguished by a stragglinggrey beard. His wits were beginning to fail, but not yet his cunning. Hewas extremely anxious to learn the reason for the policeman's coming. For Stonor to tell him would have been to defeat his object; to liewould have been to lower himself in their eyes; so Stonor took refuge inan inscrutability as polite as the old man's own. 

Stonor made a house-to-house canvass of the village, inquiring as to thehealth and well-being of each household, as is the custom of hisservice, and keeping his eyes open on his own account. He satisfiedhimself that if there had been whisky there, it was drunk up by now. Some of the men showed the sullen depressed air that follows on aprolonged spree, but all were sober at present. 

He was in one of the last houses of the village, when, out of the tailof his eye, he saw a man quietly issue from the house next in order, and, covered by the crowd around the door, make his way back to a housealready visited. Stonor, without saying anything, went back to thathouse and found himself face to face with a young white man, a stranger, who greeted him with an insolent grin. 

"Who are you?" demanded the policeman. 

"Hooliam. "

"You have a white man's name. What is it?"

"Smith"--this with inimitable insolence, and a look around that bid forthe applause of the natives. 

Stonor's lip curled at the spectacle of a white man's thus loweringhimself. "Come outside, " he said sternly. "I want to talk to you. "

He led the way to a place apart on the river bank, and the other, notdaring to defy him openly, followed with a swagger. With a stern glanceStonor kept the tatterdemalion crowd at bay. Stonor coolly surveyed hisman in the sunlight and saw that he was not white, as he had supposed, but a quarter or eighth breed. He was an uncommonly good-looking youngfellow in the hey-day of his youth, say, twenty-six. With his clearolive skin, straight features and curly dark hair he looked not so muchlike a breed as a man of one of the darker peoples of the Caucasianrace, an Italian or a Greek. There was a falcon-like quality in thepoise of his head, in his gaze, but the effect was marred by theconsciousness of evil, the irreconcilable look in the fine eyes. 

"Bad clear through!" was Stonor's instinctive verdict. 

"Where did you come from?" he demanded. 

"Up river, " was the casual reply. The man's English was as good asStonor's own. 

"Answer me fully. "

"From Sah-ko-da-tah prairie, if you know where that is. I came into thatcountry by way of Grande Prairie. I came from Winnipeg. "

Stonor didn't believe a word of this, but had no means of confuting theman on the spot. "How long have you been here?" he asked. 

"A week or so. I didn't keep track. "

"What is your business here?"

"I'm looking for a job. "

"Among the Beavers? Why didn't you come to the trading-post?"

"I was coming, but they tell me John Gaviller's a hard man to work fer. Thought I better keep clear of him. "

"Gaviller's the only employer of labour hereabouts. If you don't likehim you'll have to look elsewhere. "

"I can take up land, can't I?"

"Not here. This is treaty land. Plenty of good surveyed homesteadsaround the post. "

"Thanks. I prefer to pick my own location. "

"I'll give you your choice. You can either come down to the post where Ican keep an eye on your doings, or go back up the river where you camefrom. "

"Do you call this a free country?"

"Never mind that. You're getting off easy. If you'd rather, I'll put youunder arrest and carry you down to the post for trial. "

"On what charge?"

"Furnishing whisky to the Indians. "

"It's a lie!" cried the man, hoping to provoke Stonor into revealing theextent of his information. 

But the policeman shrugged, and remained mum. 

The other suddenly changed his front. "All right, I'll go if I have to, "he said, with a conciliatory air. "To-morrow. "

"You'll leave within an hour, " said Stonor, consulting his watch. "I'llsee you off. Better get your things together. "

The man still lingered, and Stonor saw an unspoken question in his eye, a desire to ingratiate himself. Now Stonor, under his stern port as anofficer of the law, was intensely curious about the fellow. With hisgood looks, his impudent assurance, his command of English, he was anotable figure in that remote district. The policeman permitted himselfto unbend a little. 

"What are you travelling in?" he asked. 

"Dug-out. " Encouraged by the policeman's altered manner, the self-styledHooliam went on, with an air of taking Stonor into his confidence:"These niggers here are a funny lot, aren't they? Still believe inmagic. "

"In what way?"

"Why, they're always talking about a White Medicine Man who lives besidea river off to the north-west. Ernest Imbrie they call him. Do you knowhim?"

"No. "

"He's been to the post, hasn't he?"

"No. "

"Well, how did he get into the country?"

"I don't know. "

"These people say he works magic. "

"Well, if anyone wants to believe that--!"

"What do they say about him down at the post?"

"Plenty of foolishness. "

"But what?"

"You don't expect me to repeat foolish gossip, do you?"

"No, but what do you think about him?"

"I don't think. "

"They say that Gaviller's lodged a complaint against him, and you'regoing out there to arrest him as soon as it's fit to travel. "

"That's a lie. There's no complaint against the man. "

"But you are going out there, aren't you?"

"I can't discuss my movements with you. "

"That means you are going. Is it true he sent in a whole bale of silverfoxes to the post?"

"Say, what's your interest in this man, anyway?" said Stonor, losingpatience. 

"Nothing at all, " said the breed carelessly. "These Indians are alwaystalking about him. It roused my curiosity, that's all. "

"Suppose you satisfy my curiosity about yourself, " suggested Stonormeaningly. 

The old light of impudent mockery returned to the comely dark face. "Me?Oh, I'm only a no-account hobo, " he said. "I'll have to be getting readynow. "

And so Stonor's curiosity remained unsatisfied. To have questioned theman further would only have been to lower his dignity. True, he mighthave arrested him, and forced him to give an account of himself, but theprocesses of justice are difficult and expensive so far north, and thepolicemen are instructed not to make arrests except when unavoidable. Atthe moment it did not occur to Stonor but that the man's questions aboutImbrie were actuated by an idle curiosity. 

When the hour was up, the entire population of Carcajou Point gatheredon the shore to witness Hooliam's departure. Stonor was there, too, ofcourse, standing grimly apart from the rabble. Of what they thought ofthis summary deportation he could not be sure, but he suspected that ifthe whisky were all gone, they would not care much one way or the other. Hooliam was throwing his belongings in a dug-out of a different stylefrom that used by the Beavers. It was ornamented with a curved prow andstern, such as Stonor had not before seen. 

"Where did you get that boat?" he asked. 

"I didn't steal it, " answered Hooliam impudently. "Traded my horse forit and some grub at Fort Cardigan. "

Cardigan was a Company post on the Spirit a hundred miles or so abovethe Crossing. Stonor saw that Hooliam was well provided with blankets, grub, ammunition, etc. , and that it was not Company goods. 

When Hooliam was ready to embark, he addressed the crowd in an Indiantongue which strongly resembled Beaver, which Stonor spoke, but haddifferent inflections. Freely translated, his words were:

"I go, men. The moose-berry (_i. E. _, red-coat) wills it. I don't likemoose-berries. Little juice and much stone. To eat moose-berries draws aman's mouth up like a tobacco-bag when the string is pulled. "

They laughed, with deprecatory side-glances at the policeman. They werenot aware that he spoke their tongue. Stonor had no intention of lettingthem know it, and kept an inscrutable face. They pushed off the dug-out, and Hooliam, with a derisive wave of the hand, headed up river. Allremained on the shore, and Stonor, seeing that they expected somethingmore of Hooliam, remained also. 

He had gone about a third of a mile when Stonor saw him bring thedug-out around and ground her on the beach. He made no move to get out, but a woman appeared from out of the shrubbery and got in. She was toofar away for Stonor to distinguish anything of her features; her figurelooked matronly. 

"Who is that?" he asked sharply. 

Several voices answered. "Hooliam's woman. Hooliam got old woman for hiswoman"--with scornful laughter. Now that Hooliam was gone, they wereprepared to curry favour with the policeman. 

Stonor was careful not to show the uneasiness he felt. This was hisfirst intimation that Hooliam had a companion. He considered followinghim in another dug-out, but finally decided against it. The fact that hehad taken the woman aboard in plain sight smacked merely of bravado. Along experience of the red race had taught Stonor that they love toshroud their movements in mystery from the whites, and that in theirmost mysterious acts there is not necessarily any significance. 

Hooliam, with a wave of his paddle, resumed his journey, and presentlydisappeared around a bend. Stonor turned on his heel and left the beach, followed by the people. They awaited his next move somewhatapprehensively, displaying an anxiety to please which suggested badconsciences. Stonor, however, contented himself with offering someprivate admonitions to Shose Cardinal, who seemed to take them in goodpart. He then prepared to return to the post. The people speeded hisdeparture with relieved faces. 

That night Stonor camped on the prairie half-way home. As he lay wooingsleep under the stars, his horse cropping companionably near by, a newthought caused him to sit up suddenly in his blankets. 

"He mentioned the name Ernest Imbrie. The Indians never call himanything but the White Medicine Man. And even if they had picked up thename Imbrie at the post, they never speak of a man by his Christianname. If they had heard the name Ernest I doubt if they could pronounceit. Sounds as if he knew the name beforehand. Queer if there should beany connection there. I wish I hadn't let him go so easily. --Oh, well, it's too late to worry about it now. The steamboat will get to theCrossing before he does. I'll drop a line to Lambert to keep an eye onhim. "

CHAPTER III

THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR

At Fort Enterprise a busy time followed. The big steamboat ("big" ofcourse only for lack of anything bigger than a launch to compare with)had to be put in the water and outfitted, and the season's catch of furinventoried, baled and put aboard. By Victoria Day all was ready. Theytook the day off to celebrate with games and oratory (chiefly for thebenefit of the helpless natives) followed by a big bonfire and dance atSimon Grampierre's up the river. 

Next morning the steamboat departed up-stream, taking Captain Stinson, Mathews, and most of the native employees of the post in her crew. DocGiddings and Stonor watched her go, each with a little pain at thebreast; she was bound towards the great busy world, world of infinitedelight, of white women, lights, music, laughter and delicate feasting;in short, to them the world of romance. They envied the very bales offur aboard that were bound for the world's great market-places. On theother hand, John Gaviller watched the steamboat go with highsatisfaction. To him she represented Profit. He never knew homesickness, because he was at home. For him the world revolved around FortEnterprise. As for Gordon Strange, the remaining member of the quartettewho watched her go, no one ever really knew what he thought. 

The days that followed were the dullest in the whole year. The nativeshad departed for their summer camps, and there was no one left aroundthe post but the few breed farmers. To Stonor, who was twenty-sevenyears old, these days were filled with a strange unrest; for the comingof summer with its universal blossoming was answered by a surge in hisown youthful blood--and he had no safety-valve. A healthy instinct urgedhim to a ceaseless activity; he made a garden behind his quarters; hebuilt a canoe (none of your clumsy dug-outs, but a well-turnedPeterboro' model sheathed with bass-wood); he broke the colts of theyear. Each day he tired himself out and knew no satisfaction in hiswork, and each morning he faced the shining world with a kind of groan. Just now he had not even Tole Grampierre to talk to, for Tole, followingthe universal law, was sitting up with Berta Thomas. 

The steamboat's itinerary took her first to Spirit River Crossing, thepoint of departure for "outside" where she discharged her fur and tookon supplies for the posts further up-stream. Proceeding up to Cardiganand Fort Cheever, she got their fur and brought it back to the Crossing. Then, putting on supplies for Fort Enterprise, she hustled down homewith the current. It took her twelve days to mount the stream and six toreturn. Gaviller was immensely proud of the fact that she was the onlything in the North that ran on a pre-arranged schedule. He even sent outa timetable to the city for the benefit of intending tourists. She wasdue back at Enterprise on June 15th. 

When the morning of that day broke a delightful excitement filled thebreasts of those left at the post. As in most Company establishments, onthe most prominent point of the river-bank stood a tall flagstaff, witha little brass cannon at its foot. The flag was run up and the cannonloaded, and every five minutes during the day some one would be runningout to gaze up the river. Only Gaviller affected to be calm. 

"You're wasting your time, " he would say. "Stinson tied up at Tar Islandlast night. If he comes right down he'll be here at three forty-five;and if he has to land at Carcajou for wood it will be near supper-time. "

The coming of the steamboat always held the potentialities of a dramaticsurprise, for they had no telegraph to warn them of whom or what she wasbringing. This year they expected quite a crowd. In addition to theirregular visitors, Duncan Seton, the Company inspector, and BishopTrudeau on his rounds, the government was sending in a party ofsurveyors to lay off homesteads across the river, and Mr. Pringle, theEpiscopal missionary, was returning to resume his duties. An added spiceof anticipation was lent by the fact that the latter was expected tobring his sister to keep house for him. There had been no white woman atFort Enterprise since the death of Mrs. Gaviller many years before. But, as Miss Pringle was known to be forty years old, the excitement on heraccount was not undue. Her mark would be Gaviller, the younger men said, affecting not to notice the trader's annoyance. 

Gaviller had put a big boat's whistle on his darling _Spirit River_, andthe mellow boom of it brought them on a run out of the store before shehove in sight around the islands in front of Grampierre's. Gaviller hadhis binoculars. He could no longer keep up his pretence of calmness. 

"Three twenty-eight!" he cried, excitedly. "Didn't I tell you! Who sayswe can't keep time up here! She'll run her plank ashore at threeforty-five to the dot!"

"There she is!" they cried, as she poked her nose around the islands. 

"Good old tub!"

"By God! she's a pretty sight--white as a swan!"

"And floats like one!"

"Some class to that craft, sir!"

Meanwhile Gaviller was nervously focussing his binoculars. "By Golly!there's a big crowd on deck!" he cried. "Must be ten or twelve besidethe crew!"

"Can you see the petticoat?" asked Doc Giddings. "Gee! I hope she cancook!"

"Wait a minute! Yes--there she is!--Hello! By God, boys, there's two ofthem!"

"Two!"

"Go on, you're stringing us!"

"The other must be a breed. "

"No, sir, she's got a white woman's hat on, a stylish hat. And now I cansee her white face!"

"John, for the lova Mike let me look!"

But the trader held him off obdurately. "I believe she's young. She's alittle woman beside the other. I believe she's good-looking! All the menare crowding around her. "

Stonor's heart set up an unaccountable beating. "Ah, it'll be the wifeof one of the surveyors, " he said, with the instinct of guarding againsta disappointment. 

"No, sir! If her husband was aboard the other men wouldn't be crowdingaround like that. "

"No single woman under forty would dare venture up here. She'd bemobbed. "

"Might be a pleasant sort of experience for her. "

Doc Giddings had at last secured possession of the glasses. "She _is_good-looking!" he cried. "Glory be, she's a peach! I can see her smile!"

The boat was soon close enough for the binoculars to be dispensed with. To Stonor the whole picture was blurred, save for the one slender, fragile figure clad in the well-considered dress of a lady, perfect indetail. Of her features he was aware at first only of a beaming, wistfulsmile that plucked at his heartstrings with a strange sharpness. Even atthat distance she gave out something that changed him for ever, and heknew it. He gazed, entirely self-forgetful, with rapt eyes and partedlips that would have caused the other men to shout with laughter--hadthey not been gazing, too. The man who dwells in a world full ofcharming women never knows what they may mean to a man. Let him beexiled, and he'll find out. In that moment the smouldering uneasinesswhich had made Stonor a burden to himself of late burst into flame, andhe knew what was the matter. He beheld his desire. 

As the steamboat swept by below them, Stonor automatically dipped theflag, and Gaviller touched off the old muzzle-loader, which vented amagnificent roar for its size. The whistle replied. The _Spirit River_waltzed gracefully around in the stream, and, coming back against thecurrent, pushed her nose softly into the mud of the strand. They randown to meet her. Hawsers were passed ashore and made fast, and theplank run out. 

Gaviller and the others went aboard, and first greetings were exchangedon the forward deck of the steamboat. Stonor, afflicted with a suddendiffidence, hung in the background. He wished to approach her bydegrees. Meanwhile he was taking her in. He scarcely dared look at herdirectly, but his gaze thirstily drank in her outlying details, so tospeak. Her small, well-shod feet were marvellous to him; likewise herexquisite silken ankles. He observed that she walked with stiff, short, delicate steps, like a high-bred filly. He was enchanted with theslight, graceful gesticulation of her gloved hand. When he finallybrought himself to look at her eyes he was not disappointed; deep bluewere they, steady, benignant, and of a heart-disquieting wistfulness. Other items, by the way, were a little straight nose, absurd andlovable, and lips fresh and bright as a child's. All the men werestanding about her with deferential bared heads, and the finest thing(in Stonor's mind) was that she displayed no self-consciousness in thistrying situation; none of the cooings, the gurglings, the flirtatiousflutterings that bring the sex into disrepute. Her back was as straightas a plucky boy's and her chin up like the same. 

When Stonor saw that his turn was approaching to be introduced, he wasseized outright with panic. He slipped inside the vessel and made hisway back to where the engineer was wiping his rods. He greeted Mathewswith a solicitude that surprised the dour Scotchman. He stood theremaking conversation until he heard everybody in the bow go ashore. Afterwards he was seized with fresh panic upon realizing that delayingthe inevitable introduction could not but have the effect of singlinghim out and making him more conspicuous when it came about. 

John Gaviller carried Miss Pringle and the charming unknown up to theclap-boarded villa until the humble shack attached to the Englishmission could be made fit to receive them. Stonor went for a long walkto cool his fevered blood. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. Byhis timidity, not to use a stronger word, he had lost precious hours;indeed, now that he had missed his first opportunity, he might beoverlooked altogether. The other men would not be likely to help him outat all. A cold chill struck to his breast at the thought. He resolved tomarch right up to the guns of her eyes on his return. But he made ascore of conflicting resolutions in the course of his walk. Meanwhile hedidn't yet know whether she were Miss or Mrs. , or what was her errand atFort Enterprise. True, he could have gone back and asked any of the menwho came on the boat, but nothing in the world could have induced him tospeak of her to anyone just then. 

When he got back, it was to find the post in a fever of preparation. John Gaviller had asked every white man to his house to dinner to meetthe ladies. It was to be a real "outside" dinner party, and there was asudden, frantic demand for collars, cravats and presentable foot-wear. Nobody at the post had a dress-suit but Gaviller himself. 

Of them all only Stonor had no sartorial problems; his new uniform andhis Strathcona boots polished according to regulations were all he hadand all he needed. He surveyed the finished product in his little mirrorwith strong dissatisfaction. "Ornery-looking cuss, " he thought. But aman is no judge of his own looks. A disinterested observer might havegiven a different verdict. A young man less well favoured by naturewould have gazed at Stonor's long-limbed ease with helpless envy. He hadthat rare type of figure that never becomes encumbered with fat. Thegrace of youth and the strength of maturity met there. He would make apattern colonel if he lived. Under the simple lines of his uniform oneapprehended the ripple and play of unclogged muscles. If all men werelike Stonor the tailor's task would be a sinecure. 

As to his face, mention has already been made of the sober gazelightened by a suggestion of sly mirthfulness. In a company wheresprightliness was the great desideratum, Stonor, no doubt, would havebeen considered slow. Men with strong reserves are necessarily a littleslow in coming into action; they are apt, too, as a decent cover fortheir feelings, to affect more slowness than they feel. A woman canrarely look at that kind of man without feeling a secret desire to rousehim; there is so clearly something to rouse. It was Stonor's hair whichhad given rise to the quaint name the native maidens had applied to him, the "Gold-piece. " It was not yellow hair, as we call it, but a shinylight brown, and under the savage attack of his brushes the shine wasaccentuated. 

The guests were received in the drawing-room of Enterprise House, whichwas rarely opened nowadays. It had a charming air of slightlyold-fashioned gentility, just as its dead mistress had left it, and therough Northerners came in with an abashed air. John Gaviller, resplendent in the dress-suit, stood by the piano, with the little ladyon one hand and the large lady on the other, and one after another themen marched up and made their obeisances. The actual introduction provedto be not so terrible an ordeal as Stonor had feared--or perhaps it ismore proper to say, that it was so terrible he was numbed and feltnothing. It was all over in a minute. "Miss Starling!" the name rangthrough his consciousness like the sound of silver bells. 

Face to face Stonor saw her but dimly through the mist of too muchfeeling. She treated him exactly the same as the others, that is to say, she was kind, smiling, interested, and personally inscrutable. Stonorwas glad that there was another man pressing close at his heels, for hefelt that he could stand no more just then. He was passed on to MissPringle. Of this lady it need only be said that she was a large-sizeclergyman's sister, a good soul, pious and kindly. She has little to dowith this tale. 

In Stonor's eyes she proved to have a great merit, for she was disposedto talk exclusively about Miss Starling. Stonor's ears were long forthat. From her talk he gathered three main facts: (a) that MissStarling's given name was Clare (enchanting syllable!); (b) that the twoladies had become acquainted for the first time on the way into thecountry; (c) that Miss Starling was going back with the steamboat. "Ofcourse!" thought Stonor, with his heart sinking slowly like awater-logged branch. 

"Isn't she plucky!" said Miss Pringle enthusiastically. 

"She looks it, " said Stonor, with a sidelong glance at the object of herencomium. 

"To make this trip, I mean, all by herself. "

"Is it just to see the country?" asked Stonor diffidently. 

"Oh, don't you know? She's on the staff of the _Winnipeg News-Herald_, and is writing up the trip for her paper. "

Stonor instantly made up his mind to spend his next leave in Winnipeg. His relief was due in October. 

John Gaviller could do things in good style when he was moved to it. Thetable was gay with silver under candle-light. Down the centre wereplaced great bowls of painter's brush, the rose of the prairies. Andwith the smiling ladies to grace the head of the board, it was like aglimpse of a fairer world to the men of the North. Miss Pringle was onGaviller's right, Miss Starling on his left. Stonor was about half-waydown the table, and fortunately on the side opposite the younger lady, where he could gaze his fill. 

She was wearing a pink evening dress trimmed with silver, that toStonor's unaccustomed eyes seemed like gossamer and moonshine. He wasentranced by her throat and by the appealing loveliness of her thinarms. "How could I ever have thought a fat woman beautiful!" he askedhimself. She talked with her arms and her delightfully restlessshoulders. Stonor had heard somewhere that this was a sign of a warmheart. For the first time he had a view of her hair; it was dark andwarm and plentiful, and most cunningly arranged. 

Stonor was totally unaware of what he was eating. From others, later, helearned of the triumph of the kitchen--and all at three hours' notice. Fortunately for him, everybody down the table was hanging on the talk atthe head, so that no efforts in that direction were required of him. Hewas free to listen and dream. 

"Somewhere in the world there is a man who will be privileged some dayto sit across the table from her at every meal! Not in a crowd likethis, but at their own table in their own house. Probably quite anordinary fellow, too, certainly not worthy of his luck. With her eyesfor him alone, and her lovely white arms!--While other men are batchingit alone. Things are not evenly divided in this world, for sure! If thatman went to hell afterwards it wouldn't any more than square things. "

In answer to a question he heard her say: "Oh, don't ask me aboutWinnipeg! All cities are so ordinary and usual! I want to hear aboutyour country. Tell me stories about the fascinating silent places. "

"Well, as it happens, " said Gaviller, speaking slowly to give his wordsa proper effect, "we have a first-class mystery on hand just atpresent. "

"Oh, tell me all about it!" she said, as he meant her to. 

"A fellow, a white man, has appeared from nowhere at all, and sethimself up beside the Swan River, an unexplored stream away to thenorth-west of here. There he is, and no one knows how he got there. We've never laid eyes on him, but the Indians bring us marvellous talesof his 'strong medicine, ' meaning magic, you know. They say he firstappeared from under the great falls of the Swan River. They describe himas a sort of embodiment of the voice of the Falls, but we suspect thereis a more natural explanation, because he sends into the post for thefood of common humans, and gets a bundle of magazines and papers byevery mail. They come addressed to Doctor Ernest Imbrie. Our poor Dochere is as jealous as a cat of his reputation as a healer!"

Gaviller was rewarded with a general laugh, in which her silvery toneswere heard. 

"Oh, tell me more about him!" she cried. 

Of all the men who were watching her there was not one who observed anychange in her face. Afterwards they remembered this with wonder. Yetthere was something in her voice, her manner, the way she kept her chinup perhaps, that caused each man to think as her essential quality:

"She's game!"

The whole story of Imbrie as they knew it was told, with all theembroidery that had been unconsciously added during the past months. 

CHAPTER IV

MORE ABOUT CLARE

Determined to make the most of their rare feminine visitation at FortEnterprise, on the following day the fellows got up a chicken hunt onthe river bottom east of the post, to be followed by an _al fresco_supper at which broiled chicken was to be the _pièce de resistance_. Theladies didn't shoot any prairie chicken, but they stimulated the hunterswith their presence, and afterwards condescended to partake of thedelicate flesh. 

Stonor, though he was largely instrumental in getting the thing up, andthough he worked like a Trojan to make the affair go, still kept himselfpersonally in the background. He consorted with Captain Stinson andMathews, middle-aged individuals who were considered out of the running. It was not so much shyness now, as an instinct of self-preservation. "She'll be gone in a week, " he told himself. "You mustn't let this thingget too strong a hold on you, or life here after she has gone will behellish. You've got to put her out of your mind, my son--or just keepher as a lovely dream not to be taken in earnest. Hardly likely, afterseeing the world, that she'd look twice at a sergeant of police!"

In his innocence Stonor adopted the best possible way of attracting herattention to himself. More than once, when he was not looking, her eyessought him out curiously. In answer to her questions of the other men itappeared that it was Stonor who had sent the natives out in advance todrive the game past them: it was Stonor who surprised them with a clothalready spread under a poplar tree: it was Stonor who cooked the birdsso deliciously. She was neither vain nor silly, but at the same time ina company where every man lay down at her feet, so to speak, and beggedher to tread on him, it could not but seem peculiar to her that thebest-looking man of them all should so studiously avoid her. 

Next day they all crossed the river and rode up to Simon Grampierre'splace, where the half-breeds repeated the Victoria Day games for theamusement of the visitors. (These days are still talked of at FortEnterprise. ) Stonor was finally induced to give an exhibition ofhigh-school riding as taught to the police recruits, and thereby threwall the other events in the shade. But their plaudits overwhelmed him. He disappeared and was seen no more that day. 

Sunday followed. Mr. Pringle and his sister had got the little church inorder, and services were held there for the first time in many months. The mission was half a mile east of the Company buildings, and afterchurch they walked home beside the fields of sprouting grain, in acomfortable Sabbath peace that was much the same at Enterprise aselsewhere in the world. 

The procession travelled in the following order: First, four surveyorsmarching with their heads over their shoulders, at imminent risk of anundignified stumble in the trail; next, Clare Starling, flanked on oneside by Gaviller, on the other by Doc Giddings, with two more surveyorson the outlying wings, peering forward to get a glimpse of her; thenCaptain Stinson, Mathews, and Sergeant Stonor in a line, talking aboutthe state of the crops, and making believe to pay no attention to whatwas going on ahead; lastly, Mr. Pringle and his sister hurrying to catchup. 

Half-way home Miss Starling, _à propos_ of nothing, suddenly stopped andturned her head. "Sergeant Stonor, " she said. He stepped to her side. Since she clearly showed in her manner that she intended holdingconverse with the policeman, there was nothing for Gaviller _et al. _ todo but proceed, which they did with none too good a grace. This leftStonor and the girl walking together in the middle of the procession. Stinson and Mathews, who were supposed to be out of it anyway, winked ateach other portentously. 

"I wanted to ask you about that horse you rode yesterday, a beautifulanimal. What do you call him?"

"Miles Aroon, " said Stonor, like a wooden man. He dreaded that she meantto go on and enlarge on his riding tricks. In his modesty he nowregarded that he had made an awful ass of himself the day before. Butshe stuck to horse-flesh. 

"He's a beauty! Would he let me ride him?"

"Oh, yes! He has no bad tricks. I broke him myself. But of course heknows nothing of side-saddles. "

"I ride astride. "

"I believe we're all going for a twilight ride to-night. I'll bring himfor you. "

As a result of this Stonor's praiseworthy resolutions to keep out ofharm's way were much weakened. Indeed, late that night in his littleroom in quarters he gave himself up to the most outrageous dreams of apossible future happiness. Stonor was quite unversed in the ways ofmodern ladies; all his information on the subject had been gleaned fromromances, which, as everybody knows, are always behind the times in suchmatters, and it is possible that he banked too much on the simple factof her singling him out on the walk home. 

There was a great obstacle in his way; the force sets its face againstmatrimony during the term of service. Stonor in his single-mindednessnever thought that there were other careers. "I shall have to get acommission, " he thought. "An inspectorship is little enough to offerher. But what an ornament she'd be to a post! And she'd love the life;she loves horses. But Lord! it's difficult nowadays, with nothing goingon. If an Indian war would only break out!"--He was quite ready tosacrifice the unfortunate red race. 

On Monday night he was again bidden to dine at Enterprise House. AsGaviller since the day before had been no more than decently polite, Stonor ventured to hope that the invitation might have been instigatedby her. At any rate he was placed by her side this time, where he sat alittle dizzy with happiness, and totally oblivious to food. At the sametime it should be understood that the young lady had no veiled glancesor hidden meanings for him alone; she treated him, as she did all theothers, to perfect candour. 

After dinner they had music in the drawing-room. The piano wasgrotesquely out of tune, but what cared they for that? She touched itand their souls were drawn out of their bodies. Probably the performersuffered, but she played on with a smile. They listened entranced untildarkness fell, and when it is dark at Enterprise in June it is high timeto go to bed. 

They all accompanied Stonor to the door. The long-drawn summer dusk ofthe North is an ever fresh wonder to newcomers. At sight of theexquisite half-light and the stars an exclamation of pleasure broke fromClare. 

"Much too fine a night to go to bed!" she cried. "Sergeant Stonor, takeme out to the bench beside the flagstaff for a few minutes. "

As they sat down she said: "Don't you want to smoke?"

"Don't feel the need of it, " he said. His voice was husky with feeling. Would a man want to smoke in Paradise?

By glancing down and sideways he could take her in as far up as her neckwithout appearing to stare rudely. She was sitting with her feet crossedand her hands in her lap like a well-bred little girl. When he daredglance at her eyes he saw that there was no consciousness of him there. They were regarding something very far away. In the dusk the wistfulnesswhich hid behind a smile in daylight looked forth fully and broodingly. 

Yet when she spoke the matter was ordinary enough. "All the men heretell me about the mysterious stranger who lives on the Swan River. Theycan't keep away from the subject. And the funny part of it is, they allseem to be angry at him. Yet they know nothing of him. Why is that?"

"It means nothing, " said Stonor, smiling. "You see, all the men pridethemselves on knowing every little thing that happens in the country. It's all they have to talk about. In a way the whole country is like avillage. Well, it's only because this man has succeeded in defying theircuriosity that they're sore. It's a joke!"

"They tell me that you stand up for him, " she said, with a peculiarwarmth in her voice. 

"Oh, just to make the argument interesting, " said Stonor lightly. 

"Is that all?" she said, chilled. 

"No, to tell the truth, I was attracted to the man from the first, " hesaid more honestly. "By what the Indians said about his healing the sickand so on. And they said he was young. I have no friend of my own age uphere--I mean no real friend. So I thought--well, I would like to knowhim. "

"I like that, " she said simply. 

There was a silence. 

"Why don't you--sometime--go to him?" she said, with what seemed almostlike a breathless air. 

"I am going, " said Stonor simply. "I received permission in the lastmail. The government wants me to look over the Kakisa Indians to see ifthey are ready for a treaty. The policy is to leave the Indians alone aslong as they are able to maintain themselves under natural conditions. But as soon as they need help the government takes charge; limits themto a reservation; pays an annuity, furnishes medical attention, and soon. This is called taking treaty. The Kakisas are one of the last wildtribes left. "

She seemed scarcely to hear him. "When are you going?" she asked withthe same air of breathlessness. 

"As soon as the steamboat goes back. "

"How far is it to Swan River?"

"Something under a hundred and fifty miles. Three days' hard riding orfour days' easy. "

"And how far down to the great falls?"

"Accounts differ. From the known features of the map I should say abouttwo hundred miles. They say the river's as crooked as a ram's horn. "

There was another silence. She was busy with her own thoughts, andStonor was content not to talk if he might look at her. 

With her next speech she seemed to strike off at a tangent. She spokewith a lightness that appeared to conceal a hint of pain. "They say themounted police are the guides, philosophers and friends of the people upNorth. They say you have to do everything, from feeding babies toreading the burial service. "

"I'm afraid there's a good bit of romancing about the police, " saidStonor modestly. 

"But they do make good friends, don't they?" she insisted. 

"I hope so. "

She gave him the full of her deep, starry eyes. It was not anintoxicating glance, but one that moved him to the depths. "Will you bemy friend?" she asked simply. 

Poor Stonor! With too great a need for speech, speech itself wasfoundered. No words ever coined seemed strong enough to carry the weightof his desire to assure her. He could only look at her, imploring her tobelieve in him. In the end only two little words came; to himwretchedly inadequate; but it is doubtful if they could have beenbettered. 

"Try me!"

His look satisfied her. She lowered her eyes. The height of emotion wastoo great to be maintained. She cast round in her mind for something tolet them down. "How far to the north the sunset glow is now. "

Stonor understood. He answered in the same tone: "At this season itdoesn't fade out all night. The sun is such a little way below the rimthere, that the light just travels around the northern horizon, andbecomes the dawn in a little while. "

For a while they talked of indifferent matters. 

By and by she said casually: "When you go out to Swan River, take mewith you. "

He thought she was joking. "I say, that would be a lark!"

She laughed a little nervously. 

He tried to keep it up, though his heart set up a furious beating at thebare idea of such a trip. "Can you bake bannock?"

"I can make good biscuits. "

"What would we do for a chaperon?"

"Nobody has chaperons nowadays. "

"You don't know what a moral community this is!"

"I meant it, " she said suddenly, in a tone there was no mistaking. 

All his jokes deserted him, and left him trembling a little. Indeed hewas scandalized, too, being less advanced, probably, in his ideas thanshe. "It's--it's impossible!" he stammered at last. 

"Why?" she asked calmly. 

He could not give the real reason, of course. "To take the trail, you!To ride all day and sleep on the hard ground! And the river trip, anunknown river with Heaven knows what rapids and other difficulties! Afragile little thing like you!"

Opposition stimulated her. "What you call my fragility is more apparentthan real, " she said with spirit. "As a matter of fact I have moreendurance than most big women. I have less to carry. I am accustomed toliving and travelling in the open. I can ride all day--or walk if needbe. "

"It's impossible!" he repeated. It was the policeman who spoke. Theman's blood was leaping, and his imagination painting the most alluringpictures. How often on his lonely journeys had he not dreamed of thewild delights of such companionship!

"What is your real reason?" she asked. 

"Well, how could you go--with me, you know?" he said, blushing into thedusk. 

"I'm not afraid, " she answered instantly. "Anyway, that's my look-out, isn't it?"

"No, " he said, "I have to think of it. The responsibility would bemine. " Here the man broke through--"Oh, I talk like a prig!" he cried. "But don't you see, I'm not up here on my own. I can't do what I wouldlike. A policeman has got to be proper, hasn't he?"

She smiled at his _naïveté_. "But if I have business out there?"

This sounded heartless to Stonor. It was the first and last time that heventured to criticize her. "Oh, " he objected, "I don't know what reasonsthe poor fellow has for burying himself--they must be good reasons, forit's no joke to live alone! It doesn't seem quite fair, does it, to dighim out and write him up in the papers?"

"Oh, what must you think of me!" she murmured in a quick, hurt tone. 

He saw that he had made a mistake. "I--I beg your pardon, " he stammeredcontritely. "I thought that was what you meant by business. "

"I'm not a reporter, " she said. 

"But they told me----"

"Yes, I know, I lied. I'm not apologizing for that. It was necessary tolie to protect myself from vulgar curiosity. "

He looked his question. 

She was not quite ready to answer it yet. "Suppose I had the best ofreasons for going, " she said, hurriedly, "a reason that Mrs. Grundywould approve of; it would be your duty as a policeman, wouldn't it, tohelp me?"

"Yes--but----?"

She turned imploring eyes on him, and unconsciously clasped her hands. "I'm sure you're generous and steadfast, " she said quickly. "I can trustyou, can't I, not to give me away? The gossip, the curious stares--itwould be more than I could bear! Promise me, whatever you may think ofit all, to respect my secret. "

"I promise, " he said a little stiffly. It hurt him that he was requiredto protest his good faith. "The first thing we learn in the force is tokeep our mouths shut. "

"Ah, now you're offended with me because I made you promise!"

"It doesn't matter. It's over now. What is your reason for wanting to goout to Swan River?"

She answered low: "I am Ernest Imbrie's wife. "

"Oh!" said Stonor in a flat tone. A sick disappointment filled him--yetin the back of his mind he had expected something of the kind. An innervoice whispered to him: "Not for you! It was too much to hope for!"

Presently she went on: "I injured him cruelly. That's why he buriedhimself so far away. "

Stonor turned horror-stricken eyes on her. 

"Oh, not that, " she said proudly and indifferently. "The injury I didhim was to his spirit; that is worse. " Stonor turned hot for hismomentary suspicion. 

"I can repair it by going to him, " she went on. "I _must_ go to him. Ican never know peace until I have tried to make up to him a little ofwhat I have made him suffer. "

She paused to give Stonor a chance to speak--but he was dumb. 

Naturally she misunderstood. "Isn't that enough?" she cried painfully. "I have told you the essential truth. Must I go into particulars? Ican't bear to speak of these things!"

"No! No!" he said, horrified. "It's not that. I don't want to hear anymore. "

"Then you'll help me?"

"I will take you to him. "

She began to cry in a pitiful shaken way. 

"Ah, don't!" murmured Stonor. "I can't stand seeing you. "

"It's--just from relief, " she whispered. . . . "I've been under astrain. . . . I think I should have gone out of my mind--if I had beenprevented from expiating the wrong I did. . . . I wish I could tellyou--he's the bravest man in the world, I think--and the mostunhappy!. . . And I heaped unhappiness on his head!"

This was hard for Stonor to listen to, but it was so obviously a reliefto her to speak, that he made no attempt to stop her. 

She soon quieted down. "I shan't try to thank you, " she said. "I'll showyou. "

Stonor foresaw that the proposed journey would be attended withdifficulties. 

"Would it be possible, " she asked meekly, "for you to plan to leave aday in advance of the steamboat, and say nothing about taking me?"

"You mean for us to leave the post secretly?" he said, a little aghast. 

"When the truth came out it would be all right, " she urged. "And itwould save me from becoming the object of general talk and commiserationhere. Why, if Mr. Gaviller knew in advance, he'd probably insist onsending a regular expedition. "

"Perhaps he would. "

"And they'd all try to dissuade me. I'd have to talk them over one byone--I haven't the strength of mind left for that. They'd say I ought towait here and send for him----"

"Well, wouldn't that be better?"

"No! No! Not the same thing at all. I doubt if he'd come. And what wouldI be doing here--waiting--without news. I couldn't endure it. I must goto him. "

Stonor thought hard. Youth was pulling him one way, and his sense ofresponsibility the other. Moreover, this kind of case was not providedfor in regulations. Finally he said:

"Couldn't you announce your intention of remaining over for one trip ofthe steamboat? Miss Pringle would be glad to have you, I'm sure. "

"I could do that. But you're not going to delay the start?"

"We can leave the day after the boat goes, as planned. But if we weremissed before the boat left she'd carry out some great scandalous talethat we might never be able to correct. For if scandal gets a big enoughstart you can never overtake it. "

"You are right, of course. I never thought of that. "

"Then I see no objection to leaving the post secretly, provided you arewilling to tell one reliable person in advance--say Pringle or hissister, of our intention. You see we must leave someone behind us tostill the storm of gossip that will be let loose. "

"You think of everything!"

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST STAGE

For two days Stonor went about his preparations with an air of doggeddetermination. It seemed to him that all the light had gone out of hislife, and hope was dead. He told himself that the proposed trip couldnot be otherwise than the stiffest kind of an ordeal to a man in hisposition, an ordeal calling for well-nigh superhuman self-control. Howgladly would he have given it up, had he not given his word. 

And then on the third day his spirits unaccountably began to rise. As amatter of fact youthful spirits must seek their natural level no lesssurely than water, but Stonor was angry with himself, accusing himselfof lightheadedness, inconstancy and what not. His spirits continued torise just the same. There was a delight in providing everything possiblefor her comfort. The mere thought of going away with her, under anycircumstances whatsoever, made his heart sing. 

John Gaviller was astonished by the size and variety of his requisitionfor supplies. Besides the customary rations Stonor included all theluxuries the store afforded: viz. , tinned fish, vegetables and fruit;condensed milk, marmalade and cocoa. And in quantities double what hewould ordinarily have taken. 

"Getting luxurious in your old age, aren't you?" said the trader. 

"Oh, I'm tired of an unrelieved diet of bannock and beans, " said Stonor, with a carelessness so apparent, they ought to have been warned; but ofcourse they never dreamed of anything so preposterous as the truth. 

Stonor had two horses of his own. He engaged three more from SimonGrampierre, horses that he knew, and from Tole Grampierre purchased afine rabbit-skin robe for Clare's bed on the trail. Tole, who hadsecretly hoped to be taken on this expedition, was much disappointedwhen no invitation was forthcoming. Stonor arranged with Tole to ride tomeet him with additional supplies on the date when he might expect to bereturning. Tole was to leave Enterprise on July 12th. 

From Father Goussard Stonor borrowed a mosquito tent on the plea thathis own was torn. He smuggled a folding camp-cot into his outfit. Clarefortunately had brought suitable clothes for the most part. How wellStonor was to know that little suit cut like a boy's with Norfolk jacketand divided skirt! What additional articles she needed Miss Pringlebought at the store for a mythical destitute Indian boy. They had soonfound it necessary to take Miss Pringle into their confidence. She wentabout charged with the secret like a soda-water-bottle with the corkwired down. 

Beside Gordon Strange, the only person around the post who could speakthe Kakisa tongue was a woman, Mary Moosa, herself a Kakisa who hadmarried a Cree. Her husband was a deck-hand on the steamboat. Stonor hadalready engaged Mary Moosa to take this trip with him as interpreter, and Mary, who had her own notions of propriety, had stipulated that heroldest boy be taken along. Mary herself promised to be a godsend on thetrip; for she was just the comfortable dependable soul to look afterClare, but the boy now became a problem, for the dug-out that Stonordesigned to use on the Swan River would only carry three personscomfortably, with the necessary outfit. Yet Stonor could not speak toMary in advance about leaving the boy at home. 

Such was Stonor's assiduity that everything was ready for the start twodays ahead of time--an unheard-of thing up North. Everybody at the postgave up a morning to seeing the steamboat off. She carried with her areport from Stonor to his inspector, telling of the proposed trip. Clarewas among those who waved to her from the shore. No surprise had beenoccasioned by the announcement of her decision to remain over a trip. Gaviller was already planning further entertainments. She had by thistime moved down to the Mission with the Pringles. 

On the afternoon of that day Stonor transported his goods and swam hishorses across the river, to be ready for the start from the other side. Mary Moosa and her son met him there, and camped beside the outfit forthe night. Stonor returned to Enterprise House for dinner. He had triedto get out of it, knowing that the fact of this dinner would rankle inthe trader's breast afterwards, but Gaviller had insisted on giving hima send-off. It was not a happy affair, for three of the guests werewretchedly nervous. They could not help but see in their mind's eyeGaviller's expression of indignant astonishment when the news should bebrought him next day. 

Gaviller further insisted on taking everybody down to the shore to seeStonor off, thus obliging the trooper to make an extra trip across theriver and back in order to maintain the fiction. Stonor slept in his owncamp for an hour, and then rowed down-stream and across, to land infront of the Mission. 

It is never perfectly dark at this season, and already day was beginningto break. Stonor climbed the bank, and showed himself at the top, knowing that they would be on the watch from within. The little grey logmission-house crouched in its neglected garden behind a fence of brokenpalings. But a touch of regeneration was already visible in MissPringle's geranium slips in the windows, and her bits of white curtain. 

The door was silently opened, and the two women kissed in the entry. Stonor was never to forget that picture in the still grey light. Clare, clad in the little Norfolk suit and the boy's stout boots and hat, crossed the yard with the little mincing steps so characteristic of her, and therefore so charming to the man who waited. Her face was pale, hereyes bright. Miss Pringle stood in the doorway, massive and tearful, ahand pressed to her mouth. 

Stonor's breast received a surprising wrench. "It's like an elopement!"he thought. "Ah, if she _were_ coming to me!"

She smiled at him without speaking, and handed over her bag. Stonorclosed the gate softly, and they made their way down the bank, and gotin the boat. 

It was a good, stiff pull back against the current. They spoke little. Clare studied his grim face with some concern. 

"Regrets?" she asked. 

He rested on his oars for a moment and his face softened. He smiled ather frankly--and ruefully. "No regrets, " he said, "but a certain amountof anxiety. "

His glance conveyed a good deal more than that--in spite of him. "I loveyou with all my heart. Of course I clearly understand that you havenothing for me. I am prepared to see this thing through, no matter whatthe end means to me. --But be merciful!" All this was in his look. Whether she got it or not, no man could have told. She looked away anddabbled her hand in the water. 

Mary Moosa was a self-respecting squaw who lived in a house with tablesand chairs and went to church and washed her children with soap. In herplain black cotton dress, the skirt cut very full to allow her to rideastride, her new moccasins and her black straw hat she made a figure ofmatronly tidiness if not of beauty. She was cooking when they arrived. Her inward astonishment, at beholding Stonor returning with the whitegirl who had created such a sensation at the post, can be guessed; but, true to her traditions, she betrayed nothing of it to the whites. Aftera single glance in their direction her gaze returned to the frying-pan. 

It was Stonor who was put out of countenance, "Miss Starling is goingwith us, " he said, with a heavy scowl. 

Mary made no comment on the situation, but continued gravely frying theflap-jacks to a delicate golden shade. Her son, aged about fourteen, whohad less command over his countenance, stood in the background staring, with open eyes and mouth. It was a trying moment for Stonor and Clare. They discussed the prospects of a good day for the journey in ratherstrained voices. 

However, it proved that Mary's silence had neither an unfriendly nor acensorious intention. She merely required time to get her breath, so tospeak. She transferred the flap-jacks from the pan to a plate, and, putting them in the ashes to keep hot, arose and came to Clare withextended hand. 

"How, " she said, as she had been taught was manners to all. 

Clare took her hand with a right good will. 

It suddenly occurred to Mary that there was now no occasion for the boyto accompany them. Mary was a woman of few words. "You go home, " shesaid calmly. 

The boy broke into a howl of grief, proving that the delights of theroad are much the same to boys, red or white. 

"Poor little fellow!" said Clare. 

"Too young for travel, " said Mary, impassively. "More trouble thanhelp. "

Clare wished to intercede for him with Stonor, but the trooper shook hishead. 

"No room in the dug-out, " he said. 

Toma Moosa departed along the shore with his arm over his eyes. 

Mary was as good as a man on a trip. While Stonor and Clare ate shepacked the horses, and Stonor had only to throw the hitch and draw ittaut. Clare watched this operation with interest. 

"They swell up just like babies when you're putting their bands on, " sheremarked. 

They were on the move shortly after sunrise, that is to say half-pastthree. As they rode away over the flat, each took a last look at thebuildings of the post across the river, gilded by the horizontal rays, each wondering privately what fortune had in store for them before theyshould see the spot again. 

They passed the last little shack and the last patch of grain beforeanybody was astir. When they rode out into the open country everybody'sspirits rose. There is nothing like taking the trail to lift up theheart--and on a June morning in the north! Troubles, heart-aches andanxieties were left behind with the houses. Even Mary Moosa beamed inher inscrutable way. 

Stonor experienced a fresh access of confidence, and proceeded todeceive himself all over again. "I'm cured!" he thought. "There'snothing to mope about. She's my friend. Anything else is out of thequestion, and I will not think of it again. We'll just be good pals liketwo fellows. You can be a pal with the right kind of girl, and she isthat. --But better than any fellow, she's so damn good to look at!"

It was a lovely park-like country with graceful, white-stemmed poplarsstanding about on the sward, and dark spruces in the hollows. The grasswas starred with flowers. When Nature sets out to make a park her stylehas a charming abandon that no landscape-gardener can ever hope tocapture. After they mounted the low bench the country rolled shallowly, flat in the prospect, with a single, long, low eminence, blue athwartthe horizon ahead. 

"That's the divide between the Spirit and the Swan, " said Stonor. "We'llcross it to-morrow. From here it looks like quite a mountain, but theascent is so gradual we won't know we're over it until we see the waterflowing the other way. "

Clare rode Miles Aroon, Stonor's sorrel gelding, and Stonor rode theother police horse, a fine dark bay. These two animals fretted a gooddeal at the necessity of accommodating their pace to the humble packanimals. These latter had a stolid inscrutable look like their nativemasters. One in particular looked so respectable and matter-of-fact thatClare promptly christened her Lizzie. 

Lizzie proved to be a horse of a strong, bourgeois character. If herpack was not adjusted exactly to her liking, she calmly sat on herhaunches in the trail until it was fixed. Furthermore, she insisted onbringing up the rear of the cavalcade. If she was put in the middle, shesimply fell out until the others had passed. In her chosen place sheproceeded to fall asleep, with her head hanging ever lower and feetdragging, while the others went on. Stonor, who knew the horse, let herhave her way. There was no danger of losing her. When she awoke andfound herself alone, she would come tearing down the trail, screamingfor her beloved companions. 

Stonor rode at the head of his little company with a leg athwart hissaddle, so he could hold converse with Clare behind. 

Pointing to the trail stretching ahead of them like an endless brownribbon over prairie and through bush, he said: "I suppose trails are theoldest things in America. Once thoroughly made they can never beeffaced--except by the plough. You see, they never can run quitestraight, though the country may be as flat as your hand, but the widthnever varies; three and a half hands. "

Travelling with horses is not all picnicking. Three times a day theyhave to be unpacked and turned out to _graze_, and three times _caught_and _packed again_; this in addition to the regular camp routine ofpitching tents, rustling wood, cooking, etc. Clare announced herintention of taking over the cooking, but she found that baking biscuitsover an open fire in a drizzle of rain, offered a new set of problems tothe civilized cook, and Mary had to come to her rescue. 

During this, their first spell by the trail, Stonor was highly amused towatch Clare's way with Mary. She simply ignored Mary's discouragingred-skin stolidity, and assumed that they were sisters under theirskins. She pretended that it was necessary for them to take sidesagainst Stonor in order to keep the man in his place. It was not longbefore Mary was grinning broadly. Finally at some low-voiced sally ofClare's she laughed outright. Stonor had never heard her laugh before. Thereafter she was Clare's. Realizing that the wonderful white girlreally wished to make friends, Mary offered her a doglike devotion thatnever faltered throughout the difficult days that followed. 

They slept throughout the middle part of the day, and later, the skyclearing, they rode until near sun-down in order to make a goodwater-hole that Mary knew of. When they had supped and made all snug forthe night, Stonor let fall the piece of information that Mary was wellknown as a teller of tales at the Post. Clare gave her no peace thentill she consented to tell a story. They sat in a row behind Stonor'slittle mosquito-bar, for the insects were abroad, with the fire burningbefore them, and Mary began. 

"I tell you now how the people got the first medicine-pipe. This storyis about Thunder. Thunder is everywhere. He roar in the mountains, heshout far out on the prairie. He strike the high rocks and they fall. Hehit a tree and split it like with a big axe. He strike people and theydie. He is bad. He like to strike down the tall things that stand. He isver' powerful. He is the most strong one. Sometimes he steals women. 

"Long tam ago, almost in the beginning, a man and his wife sit in theirlodge when Thunder come and strike them. The man was not killed. Atfirst he is lak dead, but bam-bye he rise up again and look around him. His wife not there. He say: 'Oh well, she gone to get wood or water, 'and he sit awhile. But when the sun had gone under, he go out and askthe people where she go. Nobody see her. He look all over camp, but notfind her. Then he know Thunder steal her, and he go out alone on thehills and mak' sorrow. 

"When morning come he get up and go far away, and he ask all the animalshe meet where Thunder live. They laugh and not tell him. Wolf say: 'W'atyou think! We want go look for the one we fear? He is our danger. Fromothers we can run away. From him there is no running. He strike andthere we lie! Turn back! Go home! Do not look for the place of thefeared one. '

"But the man travel on. Travel very far. Now he come to a lodge, a funnylodge, all made of stone. Here live the raven chief. The man go in. 

"Raven chief say: 'Welcome, friend. Sit down. Sit down. ' And food wasput before him. 

"When he finish eating, Raven say: 'Why you come here?'

"Man say: 'Thunder steal my wife away. I want find his place so I gether back. '

"Raven say: 'I think you be too scare to go in the lodge of that fearedone. It is close by here. His lodge is made of stone like this, andhanging up inside are eyes--all the eyes of those he kill or steal away. He take out their eyes and hang them in his lodge. Now, will you enter?'

"Man say: 'No. I am afraid. What man could look on such things of fearand live?'

"Raven say: 'No common man can. There is only one old Thunder fears. There is only one he cannot kill. It is I, the Raven. Now I will giveyou medicine and he can't harm you. You go enter there, and look amongthose eyes for your wife's eyes, and if you find them, tell that Thunderwhy you come, and make him give them to you. Here now is a raven's wing. You point it to him, and he jomp back quick. But if that is not strongenough, take this. It is an arrow, and the stick is made of elk-horn. Take it, I say, and shoot it through his lodge. '

"Man say: 'Why make a fool of me? My heart is sad. I am crying. ' And hecover up his head with his blanket and cry. 

"Raven say: 'Wah! You do not believe me! Come out, come out, and I makeyou believe!' When they stand outside Raven ask: 'Is the home of yourpeople far?'

"Man say: 'Very far!'

"'How many days' journey?'

"Man say: 'My heart is sad. I not count the days. The berries grow andget ripe since I leave my lodge. '

"Raven say: 'Can you see your camp from here?'

"Man think that is foolish question and say nothing. 

"Then the Raven rub some medicine on his eyes and say: 'Look!' The manlook and see his own camp. It was close. He see the people. He see thesmoke rising from the lodges. And at that wonderful thing the manbelieve in the Raven's medicine. 

"Then Raven say: 'Now take the wing and the arrow and go get yourwife. '

"So the man take those things and go to Thunder's lodge. He go in andsit down by the door. Thunder sit inside and look at him with eyes oflightning. But the man look up and see those many pairs of eyes hangingup. And the eyes of his wife look at him, and he know them among allthose others. 

"Thunder ask in a voice that shake the ground: 'Why you come here?'

"Man say: 'I looking for my wife that you steal from me. There hang hereyes!'

"Thunder say: 'No man can enter my lodge and live!' He get up to strikehim. But the man point the raven's wing at him, and Thunder fall back onhis bed and shiver. But soon he is better, and get up again. Then theman put the elk-horn arrow to his bow, and shoot it through the lodge ofrock. Right through that lodge of rock it make a crooked hole and letthe sunlight in. 

"Thunder cry out: 'Stop! You are stronger! You have the great medicine. You can have your wife. Take down her eyes. ' So the man cut the stringthat held them, and right away his wife stand beside him. 

"Thunder say: 'Now you know me. I have great power. I live here insummer, but when winter come I go far south where there is no winter. Here is my pipe. It is medicine. Take it and keep it. When I come inspring you fill and light this pipe, and you pray to me, you and all thepeople. Because I bring the rain which make the berries big and ripe. Ibring the rain which make all things grow. So you must pray to me, youand all the people. '

"That is how the people got the first medicine-pipe. It was long ago. "

 * * * * *

Mary went to her own little tent, and presently they heard her peacefulsnoring. The sound had the effect of giving body to the immensity ofstillness that surrounded them and held them. Sitting beside Clare, looking out at the fire through the netting, Stonor felt his safeguardsslipping fast. There they were, the two of them, to all intents alone inthe world! How natural for them to draw close, and, while her headdropped on his shoulder, for his arm to slip around her slender form andhold her tight! He trembled a little, and his mouth went dry. If he hadbeen visiting her he could have got out, but he couldn't put her out. There was nothing to do but sit tight and fight the thing. Moisteninghis lips, he said:

"It's been a good day on the whole. "

"Ah, splendid!" she said. "If one could only hit the trail for everwithout being obliged to arrive at a destination, and take up theburdens of a stationary life!"

Stonor pondered on this answer. It sounded almost as if she dreadedcoming to the end of her journey. 

Out of the breathless dusk came a long-drawn and inexpressibly mournfulululation. Clare involuntarily drew a little closer to Stonor. Ah, butit was hard to keep from seizing her then!

"Wolves?" she asked in an awe-struck tone. 

He shook his head. "Only the wolf's little mongrel brother, coyote, " hesaid. 

"All my travelling has been done in the mountains, " she explained. Sheshivered delicately. "The first night out is always a little terrible, isn't it?"

"You're not afraid?" he asked anxiously. 

"Not exactly afraid. Just a little quivery. "

She got up, and he held up the mosquito-netting for her to pass. Outsidethey instinctively lifted up their faces to the pale stars. 

"It's safer and cleaner than a city, " said Stonor simply. 

"I know. " She still lingered for a moment. "What's your name?" she askedabruptly. 

"Martin. "

"Good-night, Martin. "

"Good-night!"

Later, rolling on his hard bed, he thought: "She might have given me herhand when she said it. --No, you fool! She did right not to! You've gotto get a grip on yourself. This is only the first day! If you begin likethis----!"

CHAPTER VI

THE KAKISAS

On the afternoon of the fourth day they suddenly issued out of bigtimber to find themselves at the edge of a plateau overlooking a shallowgreen valley, bare of trees in this place, and bisected by asmoothly-flowing brown river bordered with willows. The flat containedan Indian village. 

"Here we are!" said Stonor, reining up. 

"The unexplored river!" cried Clare. "How exciting! But how pretty andpeaceful it looks, just like an ordinary river. I suppose it doesn'trealize it's unexplored. "

On the other side there was a bold point with a picturesque clump ofpines shading a number of the odd little gabled structures with whichthe Indians cover the graves of their dead. On the nearer side from offto left appeared a smaller stream which wound across the meadow andemptied into the Swan. At intervals during the day their trail hadbordered this little river, which Clare had christened the Meander. 

The tepees of the Indian village were strung along its banks, and thestream itself was filled with canoes. On a grassy mound to the rightstood a little log shack which had a curiously impertinent look there inthe midst of Nature untouched. On the other hand the tepees sprang fromthe ground as naturally as trees. 

Their coming naturally had the effect of a thunderclap on the village. They had scarcely shown themselves from among the trees when theirpresence was discovered. A chorus of sharp cries was raised, and therewas much aimless running about like ants when the hill is disturbed. Thecries did not suggest a welcome, but excitement purely. Men, women, andchildren gathered in a dense little crowd beside the trail where theymust pass. None wished to put themselves forward. Those who lived on theother side of the little stream paddled frantically across to be in timefor a close view. 

As they approached, absolute silence fell on the Indians, the silence ofbreathless excitement. The red-coat they had heard of, and in a generalway they knew what he signified; but a white woman to them was asfabulous a creature as a mermaid or a hamadryad. Their eyes were savedfor Clare. They fixed on her as hard, bright, and unwinking as jetbuttons. They conveyed nothing but an animal curiosity. Clare nodded andsmiled to them in her own way, but no muscle of any face relaxed. 

"Their manners will bear improving, " muttered Stonor. 

"Oh, give them a chance, " said Clare. "We've dropped on them out of aclear sky. "

Some of the tepees were still made of tanned skins decorated with rudepictures; they saw bows and arrows and bark-canoes, things which havealmost passed from America. The dress of the inhabitants was lesspicturesque; some of the older men still wore their picturesque blanketcapotes, but the younger were clad in machine-made shirts and pants fromthe store, and the women in cotton dresses. They were a pure race, andas such presented for the most part fine, characteristic faces; but inbody they were undersized and weedy, showing that their stock wasrunning out. 

Stonor led the way across the flat and up a grassy rise to the littleshack that has been mentioned. It had been built for the Company clerkwho had formerly traded with the Kakisas, and Stonor designed it toaccommodate Clare for the night. They dismounted at the door. TheIndians followed them to within a distance of ten paces, where theysquatted on their heels or stood still, staring immovably. Stonorresented their curiosity. Good manners are much the same the world over, and a self-respecting people would not have acted so, he told himself. None offered to stir hand or foot to assist them to unpack. 

Stonor somewhat haughtily desired the head man to show himself. When onestepped forward, he received him sitting in magisterial state on a boxat the door. Personally the most modest of men, he felt for the momentthat Authority had to be upheld in him. So the Indian was required tostand. 

His name was Ahchoogah (as near as a white man could get it) and he wasabout forty years old. Though small and slight like all the Kakisas, hehad a comely face that somehow suggested race. He was better dressedthan the majority, in expensive "moleskin" trousers from the store, aclean blue gingham shirt, a gaudy red sash, and an antiquegold-embroidered waistcoat that had originated Heaven knows where. Onhis feet were fine white moccasins lavishly embroidered in colouredsilks. 

"How, " he said, the one universal English word. He added a moreelaborate greeting in his own tongue. 

Mary translated. "Ahchoogah say he glad to see the red-coat, like heglad to see the river run again after the winter. Where the red-coatscome there is peace and good feeling among all. No man does bad toanother man. Ahchoogah hope the red-coat come often to Swan River. "

Stonor watched the man's face while he was speaking, and apprehendedhostility behind the smooth words. He was at a loss to account for it, for the police are accustomed to being well received. "There's been somebad influence at work here, " he thought. 

He said grimly to Mary: "Tell him that I hear his good words, but I donot see from the faces of his people that we are welcome here. "

This was repeated to Ahchoogah, who turned and objurgated his peoplewith every appearance of anger. 

"What's he saying to them?" Stonor quietly asked Mary. 

"Call bad names, " said Mary. "Swear Kakisa swears. Tell them go back tothe tepees and not look like they never saw nothing before. "

And sure enough the surrounding circle broke up and slunk away. 

Ahchoogah turned a bland face back to the policeman, and through Marypolitely enquired what had brought him to Swan River. 

"I will tell you, " said Stonor. "I come bearing a message from themighty White Father across the great water to his Kakisa children. TheWhite Father sends a greeting and desires to know if it is the wish ofthe Kakisas to take treaty like the Crees, the Beavers, and otherpeoples to the East. If it is so, I will send word, and my officers andthe doctor will come next summer with the papers to be signed. "

Ahchoogah replied in diplomatic language that so far as his particularKakisas were concerned they thought themselves better off as they were. They had plenty to eat most years, and they didn't want to give up theright to come and go as they chose. No bad white men coveted their landsas yet, and they needed no protection from them. However, he would sendmessengers to his brothers up and down the river, and all would beguided by the wishes of the greatest number. 

At the beginning of this talk Clare had gone inside to escape thepiercing stares. While he talked, Ahchoogah was continually trying topeer around Stonor to get a glimpse of her. When the diplomaticformalities were over, he said (according to Mary):

"I not know you got white wife. Nobody tell me that. She is verypretty. "

"Tell him she is not my wife, " said Stonor, with a portentous scowl tohide his blushes. "Tell him--Oh, the devil! he wouldn't understand. Tellhim her name is Miss Clare Starling. "

"What she come for?" Ahchoogah coolly asked. 

"Tell him she travels to please herself, " said Stonor, letting him makewhat he would of that. 

"Ahchoogah say he want shake her by the hand. "

Stonor was in a quandary. The thought of the grimy hand touching Clare'swas detestable yet, if the request had been made in innocence it seemedchurlish to object. Clare, who overheard, settled the question for him, by coming out and offering her hand to the Indian with a smile. 

To Mary she said: "Tell him to tell the women of his people that thewhite woman wishes to be their sister. "

Ahchoogah stared at her with a queer mixture of feelings. He was muchtaken aback by her outspoken, unafraid air. He had expected to despiseher, as he had been taught to despise all women, but somehow she struckrespect into his soul. He resented it: he had taken pleasure in theprospect of despising something white. 

Clare went back into the shack. Ahchoogah, with a shrug, dismissed herfrom his mind. He spoke again with his courteous air; meanwhile (or atany rate so Stonor thought) his black eyes glittered with hostility. 

Mary translated: "Ahchoogah say all very glad you come. He say to-morrownight he going to give big tea-dance. He send for the Swan Lake peopleto come. A man will ride all night to bring them in time. He say it willbe a big time. "

"Say we thank him for the big time just as if we had had it, " saidStonor, not to be outdone in politeness. "But we must go on down theriver to-morrow morning. "

When this was translated to Ahchoogah, he lost his self-possession for amoment, and scowled blackly at Stonor. Quickly recovering himself, hebegan suavely to protest. 

"Ahchoogah say the messenger of the Great White Father mustn't go up anddown the river to the Kakisas and ask like a poor man for them to taketreaty. Let him stay here, and let the poor Kakisas come to him and makerespect. "

"My instructions are to visit the people where they live, " said Stonorcurtly. "I shall want the dug-out that the Company man left here lastSpring. "

Ahchoogah scowled again. Mary translated: "Ahchoogah say, why you wantheavy dug-out when he got plenty nice light bark-canoes. "

"I can't use bark-canoes in the rapids. "

A startled look shot out of the Indian's eyes. Mary translated: "Whatfor you want go down rapids? No Kakisas live below the rapids. "

"I'm going to visit the white man at the Great Falls. "

When Ahchoogah got this he bent the look of a pure savage on Stonor, walled and inscrutable. He sullenly muttered something that Maryrepeated as: "No can go. "

"Why not?"

"Nobody ever go down there. "

"Well, somebody's got to be the first to go. "

"Rapids down there no boat can pass. "

"The white man came up to the Indians when they were sick last fall. Ifhe can come up I can go down. "

"He got plenty strong medicine. "

Stonor laughed. "Well, I venture to say that my medicine is as strong ashis--in the rapids. "

Ahchoogah raised a whole cloud of objections. "Plenty white-face beardown there. Big as a horse. Kill man while he sleeps. Wolf down there. Run in packs as many as all the Kakisas. Him starving this year. "

"Women's talk!" said Stonor contemptuously. 

"You get carry over those falls. Behind those falls is a great pile ofwhite bones. It is the bones of all the men and beasts that were carriedover in the past. Those falls have no voice to warn you above. The waterslip over so smooth and soft you not know there is any falls till you goover. "

"Tell Ahchoogah he cannot scare white men with such tales. Tell him tobring me the dug-out to the river-shore below here. "

Ahchoogah muttered sulkily. Mary translated: "Ahchoogah say got nodug-out. Man take it up to Swan Lake. "

"Very well, then; I'll take two bark-canoes and carry around therapids. "

He still objected. "If you take our canoes, how we going to hunt andfish for our families?"

"You offered me the canoes!" cried Stonor wrathfully. 

"I forget then that every man got only one canoe. "

Stonor stood up in his majesty; Ahchoogah was like a pigmy before him. "Tell him to go!" cried the policeman. "His mouth is full of lies andbad talk. Tell him to have the dug-out or the two canoes here byto-morrow morning or I'll come and take them!"

The Indian now changed his tone, and endeavoured to soften thepoliceman's anger, but Stonor turned on his heel and entered the shack. Ahchoogah went away down-hill with a crestfallen air. 

"What do you make of it all?" Clare asked anxiously. 

Stonor spoke lightly. "Well, it's clear they don't want us to go downthe river, but what their reasons are I couldn't pretend to say. Theymay have some sort of idea that for us to explode the mystery of theriver and the white medicine man whom they regard as their own would beto lower their prestige as a tribe. It's hard to say. It's almostimpossible to get at their real reasons, and when you do, they generallyseem childish to us. I don't think it's anything we need bother ourheads about. "

"I was watching him, " said Clare. "He didn't seem to me like a bad manso much as like a child who's got some wrong idea in his head. "

"That's my idea too, " said Stonor. "One feels somehow that there's beena bad influence at work lately. But what influence could reach away outhere? It beats me! Their White Medicine Man ought to have done themgood. "

"He couldn't do them otherwise than good--so far as they would listen tohim, " she said quickly. 

They hastily steered away from this uncomfortable subject. 

"Maybe Mary can help us, " said Stonor. "Mary, go among your people andtalk to them. Give them good talk. Let them understand that we have noobject but to be their friends. If there is a good reason why weshouldn't go down the river let them speak it plainly. But this talk ofdanger and magic simply makes white men laugh. "

Mary dutifully took her way down to the tepees. She returned in time toget supper--but threw no further light on the mystery. 

"What about it, Mary?" asked Stonor. 

"Don't go down the river, " she said earnestly. "Plenty bad trip, Ithink. I 'fraid for her. She can't paddle a canoe in the rapids nortrack up-stream. What if we capsize and lose our grub? Don't go!"

"Didn't the Kakisas give you any better reasons than that?"

Mary was doggedly silent. 

"Ah, have they won you away from us too?"

This touched the red woman. Her face worked painfully. She did her bestto explain. "Kakisas my people, " she said. "Maybe you think they foolishpeople. All right. Maybe they are not a wise and strong people like theold days. But they my people just the same. I can't tell white men theirthings. "

"She's right, " put in Clare quickly. "Don't ask her any more. "

"Well, what do you think?" he asked. "Do you not wish to go anyfurther?"

"Yes! Yes!" she cried. "I must go on!"

"Very good, " he said grimly. "We'll start to-morrow. "

"I not go, " said Mary stolidly. "My people mad at me if I go. "

Here was a difficulty! Stonor and Clare looked at each other blankly. 

"What the devil----!" began the policeman. 

"Hush! leave her to me, " said Clare, urging him out of the shack. 

By and by she rejoined him outside. "She'll come, " she said briefly. 

"What magic did you use?"

"No magic. Just woman talk. "

CHAPTER VII

ON THE RIVER

Next morning they saw the dug-out pulled up on the shore below theircamp. 

"The difference between a red man and a white man, " said Stonor grimly, "is that a red man doesn't mind being caught in a lie after the occasionfor it has passed, but a white man will spend half the rest of his lifetrying to justify himself. "

He regarded the craft dubiously. It was an antique affair, grey as anold badger, warped and seamed by the sun and rotten in the bottom. Butit had a thin skin of sound wood on the outside, and on the whole itseemed better suited to their purpose than the bark-canoes used by theKakisas. 

As they carried their goods down and made ready to start the Indiansgathered around and watched with glum faces. None offered to help. Itmust have been a trying situation for Mary Moosa. When Stonor was out ofhearing they did not spare her. She bore it with her customary stoicism. Ahchoogah, less honest than the rank and file, sought to commend himselfto the policeman by a pretence of friendliness. Stonor, beyond tellinghim that he would hold him responsible for the safety of the horsesduring his absence, ignored him. 

Having stowed their outfit, they gingerly got in. Their boat, thoughover twenty feet long, was only about fifteen inches beam, and of thelog out of which she had been fashioned she still retained the tendencyto roll over. Mary took the bow paddle, and Stonor the stern; Clare satamidships facing the policeman. 

"If we can only keep on top until we get around the first bend we'llsave our dignity, anyhow, " said Stonor. 

They pushed off without farewells. When they rounded the first point ofwillows and passed out of sight of the crowd of lowering, dark faces, they felt relieved. Stonor was able to drop the port of augustpoliceman. 

Said he: "I'm going to call this craft the Serpent. She's got a fairtwist on her. Her head is pointed to port and her tail to starboard. Ittakes a mathematical deduction to figure out which way she's going. "

Clare was less ready than usual to answer his jokes. She was pale, andthere was a hint of strain in her eyes. 

"You're not bothered about Ahchoogah's imaginary terrors, are you?" heasked. 

She shook her head. "Not that. "

He wondered what it was then, but did not like to ask directly. Itsuddenly struck him that she had been steadily losing tone since thefirst day on the trail. 

Her next words showed the direction her thoughts were taking. "You saidit was two hundred miles down the river. How long do you think it willtake us to make it?"

"Three days and a bit, if my guess as to the distance is right. We havethe current to help us, and now we don't have to stop for the horses tograze. "

"They will be hard days to put in, " she said simply. 

Stonor pondered for a long time on what she meant by this. Was she soconsumed by impatience to arrive that the dragging hours were a tortureto her? or was it simply the uncertainty of what awaited her, and alonging to have it over with? That she had been eager for the journeywas clear, but it had not seemed like a joyful eagerness. He was awarethat there was something here he did not understand. Women hadunfathomable souls anyway. 

As far as he was concerned he frankly dreaded the outcome of thejourney. How was he to bear himself at the meeting of this dividedcouple? He could not avoid being a witness of it. He must hand her overwith a smile, he supposed, and make a graceful get-away. But suppose hewere prevented from leaving immediately. Or suppose, as was quitelikely, that they wished to return with him! He ground his teeth at thethought of such an ordeal. Would he be able to carry it off? He must!

"What's the matter?" Clare asked suddenly. She had been studying hisface. 

"Why did you ask?"

"You looked as if you had a sudden pain. "

"I had, " he said, with a rueful smile. "My knees. It's so long since Ipaddled that they're not limbered up yet. "

She appeared not altogether satisfied with this explanation. 

This part of the river showed a succession of long smooth reaches withlow banks of a uniform height bordered with picturesque raggedjack-pines, tall, thin, and sharply pointed. Here and there, where thecomposition seemed to require it, a perfect island was planted in thebrown flood. At the foot of the pines along the edge of each bank grewrows of berry bushes as regularly as if set out by a gardener. Alreadythe water was receding as a result of the summer drouth, but, as fast asit fell, the muddy beach left at the foot of each bank was mantled withthe tender green of goose-grass, a diminutive cousin of the tropicalbamboo. Mile after mile the character of the stream showed no variance. It was like a noble corridor through the pines. 

At intervals during the day they met a few Kakisas, singly or in pairs, in their beautifully-made little birch-bark canoes. These individuals, when they came upon them suddenly, almost capsized in their astonishmentat beholding pale-faces on their river. No doubt, in the tepees behindthe willows, the coming of the whites had long been foretold as aportent of dreadful things. 

They displayed their feelings according to their various natures. Thefirst they met, a solitary youth, was frankly terrified. He hastenedashore, the water fairly cascading from his paddle, and, squattingbehind the bushes, peered through at them like an animal. The next pairstood their ground, clinging to an overhanging willow--too startled toescape perhaps--where they stared with goggling eyes, and visiblytrembled. It gave Stonor and Clare a queer sense of power thus to havetheir mere appearance create so great an excitement. Nothing could begot out of these two; they would not even answer questions from Mary intheir own tongue. 

The fourth Kakisa, however, an incredibly ragged and dirty old man witha dingy cotton fillet around his snaky locks, hailed them with wildshouts of laughter, paddled to meet them, and clung to the dug-out, fondly stroking Stonor's sleeve. The sight of Clare caused him to go offinto fresh shrieks of good-natured merriment. His name, he informedthem, was Lookoovar, or so they understood it. He had a stomach-ache, hesaid, and wished for some of the white man's wonderful stomach-warmingmedicine of which he had heard. 

"It seems that our principal claim to fame up here is whisky, " saidStonor. 

He gave the old man a pill. Lookoovar swallowed it eagerly, but lookeddisappointed at the absence of immediate results. 

All these men were hunting their dinners. Close to the shore theypaddled softly against the current, or drifted silently down, searchingthe bushes with their keen flat eyes for the least stir. Sinceeverything had to come down to the river sooner or later to drink, theycould have had no better point of vantage. Every man had a gun in hiscanoe, but ammunition is expensive on the Swan River, and for small fry, musk-rat, duck, fool-hen, or rabbit, they still used the prehistoric bowand arrow. 

"The Swan River is like the Kakisas' Main Street, " said Stonor. "All daythey mosey up and down looking in the shop-windows for bargains infeathers and furs. "

They camped for the night on a cleared point occupied by the bare polesof several tepees. The Indians left these poles standing at all the bestsites along the river, ready to use the next time they should spell thatway. They frequently left their caches too, that is to say, spare gear, food and what-not, trustfully hanging from near-by branches inbirch-bark containers. The Kakisas even tote water in bark pails. 

Next day the character of the river changed. It now eddied aroundinnumerable short bends right and left with an invariable regularity, each bend so like the last they lost all track of the distance they hadcome. Its course was as regularly crooked as a crimping-iron. On eachbend it ate under the bank on the outside, and deposited a bar on theinside. On one side the pines toppled into the water as their footingwas undermined, while poplars sprang up on the other side in thenewly-made ground. 

On the afternoon of this day they suddenly came upon the village ofwhich they had been told. It fronted on a little lagoon behind one ofthe sand-bars. This was the village where Imbrie was said to have curedthe Kakisas of measles. At present most of the inhabitants were pitchingoff up and down the river, and there were only half a dozen coveredtepees in sight, but the bare poles of many others showed the normalextent of the village. 

The usual furore of excitement was caused by their unheralded appearancearound the bend. For a moment the Indians completely lost their heads, and there was a mad scurry for the tepees. Some mothers dragged theirscreaming offspring into the bush for better shelter. Only one or two ofthe bravest among the men dared show themselves. But with true savagevolatility they recovered from their panic as suddenly as they had beenseized. One by one they stole to the edge of the bank, where they stoodstaring down at the travellers, with their shoe-button eyes empty of allhuman expression. 

Stonor had no intention of landing here. He waited with the nose of theSerpent resting in the mud until the excitement died down. Then, throughMary, he requested speech with the head man. 

A bent old man tottered down the bank with the aid of a staff. He wore adirty blanket capote--and a bicycle cap! He faced them, his head waggingwith incipient palsy, and his dim eyes looking out bleared, indifferent, and jaded. Sparse grey hairs decorated his chin. It was a picture of agewithout reverence. 

"How dreadful to grow old in a tepee!" murmured Clare. 

The old man was accompanied by a comely youth with bold eyes, hisgrandson, according to Mary. The elder's name was Ahcunazie, the boy'sAhteeah. 

Stonor, in the name of the Great White Father, harangued the chief in astyle similar to that he had used with Ahchoogah. Ahcunazie appeareddazed and incapable of replying, so Stonor said:

"Talk with your people and find out what all desire. I will return in aweek for your answer. "

When this was translated the young man spoke up sharply. Mary said:"Ahteeah say, What for you want go down the river?"

Stonor said: "To see the white man, " and watched close to see how theywould take it. 

The scene in the other village was almost exactly repeated. Ahteeahbrought up all the reasons he could think of that would be likely todissuade Stonor. Other men, hearing what was going forward, came down tosupport the boy. Stonor's boat was rotten, they pointed out, and thewaves in the rapids ran as high as a man. With vivid gestures theyillustrated what would happen to the dug-out in the rapids. If heescaped the rapids he would surely be carried over the Falls; and if hewasn't, how did he expect to get back up the rapids? And so on. 

Old Ahcunazie stood through it all uncomprehending and indifferent. Hewas too old even to betray any interest in the phenomenon of the whitewoman. 

One thing new the whites marked: "White Medicine Man don' like whitemen. He say if white men come he goin' away. " This suggested a possiblereason for the Indian's opposition. 

Stonor still remaining unmoved, Ahteeah brought out as a clincher:"White Medicine Man not home now. "

Stonor and Clare looked at each other startled. This would be a calamityafter having travelled all that way. "Where is he?" Stonor demanded. 

The young Indian, delighted at his apparent success, answered glibly:"He say he goin' down to Great Buffalo Lake this summer. "

An instant's reflection satisfied Stonor that if this were true it wouldhave been brought out first instead of last. "Oh, well, since we've comeas far as this we'll go the rest of the way to make sure, " he saidcalmly. 

Ahteeah looked disappointed. They pushed off. The Indians watched themgo in sullen silence. 

"Certainly we are not popular in this neighbourhood, " said Stonorlightly. "One can't get rid of the feeling that their minds have beenpoisoned against us. Mary, can't you tell me why they give me such blacklooks?"

She shook her head. "I think there is something, " she said. "But theynot tell me because I with you. "

"Maybe it has something to do with me?" said Clare. 

"How could that be? They never heard of you. "

"I think it is Stonor, " said Mary. 

Clare was harder to rouse out of herself to-day. Stonor did his best notto show that he perceived anything amiss, and strove to cheer her withchaff and foolishness--likewise to keep his own heart up, but notaltogether with success. 

On one occasion Clare sought to reassure him by saying, _à propos_ ofnothing that had gone before: "The worst of having an imagination is, that when you have anything to go through with, it keeps presenting themost horrible alternatives in advance until you are almost incapable offacing the thing. And after all it is never so bad as your imaginationpictures. "

"I understand that, " said Stonor, "though I don't suppose anybody wouldaccuse me of being imaginative. "

"'Something to go through with!'" he thought. "'Horrible alternatives!''Never so bad as your imagination pictures!' What strange phrases for awoman to use who is going to rejoin her husband!"

When they embarked after the second spell Clare asked if she might sitfacing forward in the dug-out, so she could see better where they weregoing. But Stonor guessed this was merely an excuse to escape fromhaving his solicitous eyes on her face. 

 * * * * *

Next morning they overtook the last Kakisa that they were to see on theway down. He was drifting along close to the shore, and behind him inhis canoe sat his little boy as still as a mouse, receiving hiseducation in hunter's lore. This man was a more intelligent specimenthan they had met hitherto. He was a comely little fellow with anextraordinary head of hair cut _à la_ Buster Brown, and his name, hesaid, was Etzooah. Stonor remembered having heard of him and his hair asfar away as Fort Enterprise. His manners were good. While naturallyastonished at their appearance, he did not on that account lose hisself-possession. They conversed politely while drifting down side byside. 

Etzooah, in sharp contrast to all the other Kakisas, appeared to seenothing out of the way in their wish to visit the White Medicine Man, nor did he try to dissuade them. 

"How far is it to the Great Falls?" asked Stonor. 

"One sleep. "

"Are the rapids too bad for a boat?"

"Rapids bad, but not too bad. I go down in my bark-canoe, I guess you goall right in dug-out. Long tam ago my fat'er tell me all the Kakisapeople go to the Big Falls ev'ry year at the time when the berries ripe. By the Big Falls they meet the people from Great Buffalo Lake and makebig talk there and make dance to do honour to the Old Man under thefalls. And this people trade leather for fur with the people from GreatBuffalo Lake. But now this people is scare to go there. But I am notscare. I go there. Three times I go there. Each time I leave a littlepresent of tobacco for the Old Man so he know my heart is good towardshim. I guess Old Man like a brave man better than a woman. No harm cometo me since I go. My wife, my children got plenty to eat; I catch goodfur. Bam-bye I take my boy there too. Some men say I crazy for that, butI say no. It is a fine sight. It make a man's heart big to see thatsight. "

This was a man after Stonor's own heart. "Tell him those are goodwords, " he said heartily. 

When they asked him about the White Man who lived beside the falls, Etzooah's eyes sparkled. "He say he my friend, and I proud. Since he saythat I think more of myself. I walk straight. I am not afraid. He isgood. He make the sick well. He give the people good talk. He tell howto live clean and all, so there is no more sickness. He moch likechildren. He good to my boy. Give him little face that say 'Ticky-ticky'and follow the sun. "

Etzooah issued a command to his small son, and the boy shyly exhibited alarge cheap nickel watch. 

"No other Kakisa man or boy got that, " said the parent proudly. 

"Is it true that this white man hates other white men?" asked Stonor. 

Etzooah made an emphatic negative. "He got no hate. He say red man whiteman all the same man. "

"Then he'll be glad to see us?"

"I think he glad. Got good heart to all. "

"Is he at home now?"

"He is at home. I see him go down the river three sleeps ago. "

Those in the dug-out exchanged looks of astonishment. "Ask him if he issure?" said Stonor. 

Etzooah persisted in his statement. "I not speak him for cause I hidingin bush watchin' bear. And he is across the river. But I see good. Seewhite face. I know him because he not paddle like Kakisa one side otherside; him paddle all time same side and turn the paddle so to make gostraight. "

"Where had he been?"

"Up to Horse Track, I guess. "

Horse Track, of course, was the trail from the river to Fort Enterprise. The village at the end of the trail received the same designation. Ifthe tale of this visit was true it might have something to do with thehostility they had met with above. 

"But we have just come from the Horse Track, " said Stonor, to feel theman out. "Nobody told us he had been there. "

Etzooah shrugged. "Maybe they scare. Not know what to say to white man. "

But Stonor thought, if anything, they had known too well what to say. "How long had he been up there?" he asked. 

"I not know. I not know him gone up river till see him come back. "

"Maybe he only went a little way up. "

Etzooah shook his head vigorously. "His canoe was loaded heavy. "

Etzooah accompanied them to the point where the current began toincrease its pace preparatory to the first rapid. 

"This the end my hunting-ground, " he said. "Too much work to come backup the rapids. " He saluted them courteously, and caused the little boyto do likewise. His parting remark was: "Tell the White Medicine ManEtzooah never forget he call him friend. "

"Well, we've found one gentleman among the Kakisas, " Stonor said toClare, as they paddled on. 

The first rapid was no great affair. There was plenty of water, and theywere carried racing smoothly down between low rocky banks. Stonor namedthe place the Grumbler from the deep throaty sound it gave forth. 

In quiet water below they discussed what they had heard. 

"It gets thicker and thicker, " said Stonor. "It seems to me thatImbrie's having been at the Horse Track lately must have had somethingto do with the chilly reception we received. "

"Why should it?" said Clare. "He has nothing to fear from the coming ofanybody. "

"Then why did they say nothing about his visit?"

She shook her head. "You know I cannot fathom these people. "

"Neither can I, for that matter. But it does seem as if he must havetold them not to tell anybody they had seen him. "

"It is not like him. "

"Ahteeah said Imbrie hated white men; Etzooah said his heart was kind toall men: which is the truer description?"

"Etzooah's, " she said instantly. "He has a simple, kind heart. He livesup to the rule 'Love thy neighbour' better than any man I ever knew. "

"Well, we'll know to-morrow, " said Stonor, making haste to drop thedisconcerting subject. Privately he asked himself: "Why, if Imbrie issuch a good man, does she seem to dread meeting him?" There was noanswer forthcoming. 

The rapids became progressively wilder and rougher as they went on down, and Stonor was not without anxiety as to the coming back. Sometimes theycame on white water unexpectedly around a bend, but the river was not socrooked now, and more often far ahead they saw the white rabbits dancingin the sunshine, causing their breasts to constrict with a foretaste offear. As the current bore them inexorably closer, and they picked outthe rocks and the great white combers awaiting them, there was always amoment when they longed to turn aside from their fate. But once havingplunged into the welter, fear vanished, and a great exhilaration tookits place. They shouted madly to each other--even stolid Mary, and weresorry when they came to the bottom. Between rapids the smooth stretchesseemed insufferably tedious to pass. 

Stonor's endeavour was to steer a middle course between the greatbillows in the middle of the channel, which he feared might swamp theSerpent or break her in half, and the rocks at each side which wouldhave smashed her to pieces. Luckily he had had a couple of days in whichto learn the vagaries of his craft. In descending a swift current onehas to bear in mind that any boat begins to answer her helm some yardsahead of the spot where the impulse is applied. 

As the day wore on he bethought himself that "one sleep" was an elasticterm of distance, and in order to avoid the possibility of being carriedover the falls he adopted the rule of landing at the head of each rapid, and walking down the shore to pick his channel, and to make sure thatthere was smooth water below. They had been told that there was no rapidimmediately above the falls, that the water slipped over without givingwarning, but Stonor dismissed this into the limbo of red-skin romancing. He did not believe it possible for a river to go over a fall withoutsome preliminary disturbance. 

As it happened, dusk descended on them in the middle of a smooth reach, and they made camp for the last time on the descent, pitching the threetents under the pines in the form of a little square open on the riverside. Clare was very silent during the meal, and Stonor's gaiety soundedhollow in his own ears. They turned in immediately after eating. 

Stonor awoke in the middle of the night without being able to tell whathad awakened him. He had a sense that something was wrong. It was abreathless cool night. Under the pines it was very dark, but outside oftheir shadow the river gleamed wanly. Such sounds as he heard, themurmur of a far-off rapid, and a whisper in the topmost boughs of thepines, conveyed a suggestion of empty immeasurable distances. The firehad burned down to its last embers. 

Suddenly he became aware of what was the matter; Clare was weeping. Itwas the merest hint of a sound, softer than falling leaves, just a catchof the breath that escaped her now and then. Stonor lay listening withbated breath, as if terrified of losing that which tore his heartstringsto hear. He was afflicted with a ghastly sense of impotence. He had noright to intrude on her grief. Yet how could he lie supine when she wasin trouble, and make believe not to hear? He could not lie still. He gotup, taking no care to be quiet, and built up the fire. She could notknow, of course, that he had heard that broken breath. Perhaps she wouldspeak to him. Or, if she could not speak, perhaps she would take comfortfrom the mere fact of his waking presence outside. 

He heard no further sound from her tent. 

After a while, because it was impossible for him not to say it, hesoftly asked: "Are you asleep?"

There was no answer. 

He sat down by the fire listening and brooding--humming a little tunemeanwhile to assure her of the blitheness of his spirits. 

By and by a small voice issued from under her tent: "Please go back tobed, "--and he knew at once that she saw through his poor shift todeceive her. 

"Honest, I don't feel like sleeping, " he said cheerfully. 

"Did I wake you?"

"No, " he lied. "Were you up?"

"You were worrying about me, " she said. 

"Nothing to speak of. I thought perhaps the silence and the solitude hadgot on your nerves a little. It's that kind of a night. "

"I don't mind it, " she said; "with you near--and Mary, " she quicklyadded. "Please go back to bed. "

He crept to her tent. It was purely an involuntary act. He was on hisknees, but he did not think of that. "Ah, Clare, if I could only takeyour trouble from you!" he murmured. 

"Hush!" she whispered. "Put me and my troubles out of your head. It isnothing. It is like the rapids; one loses one's nerve when they loom upahead. I shall be all right when I am in them. "

"Clare, let me sit here on the ground beside you--not touching you. "

"No--please! Go back to your tent. It will be easier for me. "

 * * * * *

In the morning they arose heavily, and set about the business ofbreakfasting and breaking camp with little speech. Indeed, there wasnothing to say. Neither Stonor nor Clare could make believe now to beotherwise than full of dread of what the day had in store. Embarking, Clare took a paddle too, and all three laboured doggedly, careless alikeof rough water and smooth. 

In the middle of the day they heard, for some minutes before the placeitself hove in view, the roar of a rapid greater than any they hadpassed. 

"This will be something!" said Stonor. 

But as they swept around the bend above they never saw the rapid, foramong the trees on the bank at the beginning of the swift water therestood a little new log shack. That sight struck them like a blow. Therewas no one visible outside the shack, but the door stood open. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE LOG SHACK

It struck them as odd that no one appeared out of the shack. For a manliving beside a river generally has his eye unconsciously on the stream, just as a man who dwells by a lonely road lets few pass by unseen. Stonor sent him a hail, as is the custom of the country--but nosurprised glad face showed itself. 

"He is away, " said Stonor, merely to break the racking silence betweenhim and Clare. 

"Would he leave the door open?" she said. 

They landed. On the beach lay two birch-bark canoes, Kakisa-made. Onehad freshly-cut willow-branches lying in the bottom. Stonor happened tonotice that the bow-thwart of this canoe was notched in a peculiar way. He was to remember it later. Ordinarily the Kakisa canoes are as like aspeas out of the same pod. 

From the beach the shack was invisible by reason of the low bankbetween. Stonor accompanied Clare half-way up the bank. "Mary and I willwait here, " he said. 

She looked at him deeply without speaking. It had the effect of afarewell. Stonor saw that she was breathing fast, and that her lips werecontinually closing and parting again. Leaving him, she walked slowlyand stiffly to the door of the shack. Her little hands were clenched. Hewaited, suffering torments of anxiety for her. 

She knocked on the door-frame, and waited. She pushed the door furtheropen, and looked in. She went in, and was gone for a few seconds. Reappearing, she shook her head at Stonor. He went up and joined her. Mary, who, in spite of her stolidity, was as inquisitive as the nextwoman, followed him without being bid. 

They all entered the shack. Stonor sniffed. 

"What is that smell?" asked Clare. "I noticed it at once. "

"Kinni-kinnick. "

She looked at him enquiringly. 

"Native substitute for tobacco. It's made from the inner bark of the redwillow. He must have run out of white man's tobacco. "

She pointed to a can standing on the table. Stonor, lifting it, found itnearly full. 

"Funny he should smoke kinni-kinnick when he has Kemble's mixture. Hemust be saving that for a last resort. "

Stonor looked around him with a strong curiosity. The room had a gracethat was astonishing to find in that far-removed spot; moreover, everything had been contrived out of the rough materials at hand. Twosuperb black bear-skins lay on the floor. The bed which stood againstthe back wall was hidden under a beautiful robe made out of scores oflittle skins cunningly sewed together, lynx-paws with a border ofmarten. There were two workmanlike chairs fashioned out of willow; onewith a straight back at the desk, the other, comfortable and capacious, before the fire. The principal piece of furniture was a birch desk ortable, put together with infinite patience with no other tools but anaxe and a knife, and rubbed with oil to a satiny finish. On it stood apair of carved wooden candlesticks holding candles of bears' tallow, awooden inkwell, and a carved frame displaying a little photograph--ofClare!

Seeing it, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm glad I came, " she murmured. 

Stonor turned away. 

A pen lay on the desk where it had been dropped, and beside it was a redleather note-book or diary, of which Clare possessed herself. More thananything else, what lent the room its air of amenity was a little shelfof books and magazines above the table. There was no glass in thewindow, of course, but a piece of gauze had been stretched over theopening to keep out the insects at night. For cold weather there was aheavy shutter swung on wooden hinges. The fireplace, built of stones andclay, was in the corner. The arch was cunningly contrived out of thinslabs of stone standing on edge. Stonor immediately noticed that theashes were still giving out heat. 

The room they were in comprised only half the shack. There was a doorcommunicating with the other half. Opening it, they saw that this partevidently served the owner as a work-room and store-room. Cut wood wasneatly piled against one wall. Snowshoes, roughly-fashioned furgarments, steel traps and other winter gear were hanging from pegs. There was a window facing the river, this one uncovered, and under itwas a work-bench on which lay the remains of a meal and unwasheddishes--humble testimony to the near presence of another fellow-creaturein the wilderness. On the floor at one side was a heap of supplies; thatis to say, store-grub; evidently what Imbrie had lately brought down, and had not yet put away. There was a door in the back wall of thisroom, the side of the shack away from the river. 

Stonor, looking around, said: "I suppose he used this as a sort ofvestibule in the winter, to keep the wind and the snow out of hisliving-room. "

"Where can he be?" said Clare nervously. 

They both spoke instinctively in subdued tones, like intruders fearfulof being overheard. 

"He can't have been gone long. He was smoking here just now. Thefireplace is still warm. "

"He can't have intended to stay long, for he left everything open. "

"Well, he would hardly expect to be disturbed up here. "

"But animals?"

"No wild thing would venture close to the fresh man smell. Still, it'snatural to close up when you go away. "

"What do you think?" she asked tremulously. 

The sight of her wide, strained eyes, and the little teeth pressed intoher lower lip, were inexpressibly painful to him. Clearly it was toomuch to ask of the high-strung woman, after she had nerved herself up tothe ordeal, to go on waiting indefinitely in suspense. 

"There are dozens of natural explanations, " he said quickly. "Verylikely he's just gone into the bush to hunt for his dinner. "

Her hand involuntarily went to her breast. "I feel, " she whispered, "asif there were something dreadfully--dreadfully wrong. "

Stonor went outside and lustily holloaed. He received no answer. 

It was impossible for them to sit still while they waited. Having seeneverything in the house, they walked about outside. Off to the leftImbrie had painstakingly cleared a little garden. Strange it was to seethe familiar potato, onion, turnip and cabbage sprouting in orderly rowsbeside the unexplored river. 

Time passed. From a sense of duty they prepared a meal on the shore, andmade a pretence of eating it, each for the other's benefit. Stonor didhis best to keep up Clare's spirits, while at the same time his ownmystification was growing. For in circling the shack he could find nofresh track anywhere into the bush. Tracks there were in plenty, wherethe man had gone for wood, or to hunt perhaps, but all more thantwenty-four hours old. To be sure, there was the river, but it was notlikely he had still a third canoe: and if he had gone up the river, howcould they have missed him? As for going down, no canoe could live inthat rapid, Stonor was sure; moreover, he supposed the falls were at thefoot of it. 

Another thing; both his shot-gun and his rifle were leaning against thefireplace. He might have another gun, but it was not likely. As thehours passed, and the man neither returned nor answered Stonor'sfrequent shouts, the policeman began to wonder if an accident could haveoccurred to him. But he had certainly been alive and well within ahalf-hour of their arrival, and it seemed too fortuitous a circumstancethat anything should have happened just at that juncture. A moreprobable explanation was that the man had seen them coming, and hadreasons of his own for wishing to keep out of the way. After all, Stonorhad no precise knowledge of the situation existing between Imbrie andClare. But if he had hidden himself, where had he hidden himself?

While it was still full day Stonor persuaded Clare and Mary to remain inthe shack for a time, while he made a more careful search for Imbrie'stracks. This time he thoroughly satisfied himself that that day no onehad struck into the bush surrounding the shack. He came upon the end ofthe old carry trail around the falls, and followed it away. But it wouldhave been clear to even a tyro in the bush that no one had used itlately. There remained the beach. It was possible to walk along thestony beach without leaving a visible track. Stonor searched the beachfor half a mile in either direction without being able to find a singletrack in any wet or muddy place, and without discovering any placewhere one had struck up the bank into the bush. On the down-river sidehe was halted by a low, sheer wall of rock washed by the current. Hemade sure that no one had tried to climb around this miniatureprecipice. From this point the rapids still swept on down out of sight. 

He returned to the shack completely baffled, and hoping against hope tofind Imbrie returned. But Clare still sat huddled in the chair where hehad left her, and looked to him eagerly for news. He could only shakehis head. 

Finally the sun went down. 

"If he is not here by dark, " said Clare with a kind of desperatecalmness, "we will know something is the matter. His hat, hisammunition-belt, his hunting-knife are all here. He could not haveintended to remain away. "

Darkness slowly gathered. Nothing happened. At intervals Stonorshouted--only to be mocked by the silence. Just to be doing something hebuilt a great fire outside the shack. If Imbrie should be on the wayback it would at least warn him of the presence of visitors. 

Stonor was suddenly struck by the fact that Mary had not expressedherself as to the situation. It was impossible to tell from the smoothcopper mask of her face of what she was thinking. 

"Mary, what do you make of it?" he asked. 

She shrugged, declining to commit herself. "All the people say Eembriegot ver' strong medicine, " she said. "Say he make himself look likeanything he want. "

Stonor and Clare exchanged a rueful smile. "I'm afraid that doesn't helpmuch, " said the former. 

Mosquitoes drove them indoors. Stonor closed the door of the shack, andbuilt up the fire in the fireplace. Stonor no longer expected the man toreturn, but Clare was still tremulously on the _qui vive_ for theslightest sound. Mary went off to bed in the store-room. The othersremained sitting before the fire in Imbrie's two chairs. For them sleepwas out of the question. Each had privately determined to sit up allnight. 

For a long time they remained there without speaking. 

Stonor had said nothing to Clare about the conclusions he had arrived atconcerning Imbrie, but she gathered from his attitude that he waspassing judgment against the man they had come in search of, and shesaid at last:

"Did you notice that little book that I picked up off the desk?"

Stonor nodded. 

"It was his diary. Shall I read you from it?"

"If you think it is right. "

"Yes. Just an extract or two. To show you the kind of man he is. "

The book was in the side pocket of her coat. Opening it, and leaningforward to get the light of the fire, she read:

"April 29th: The ice is preparing to go out. Great booming cracks havebeen issuing from the river all day at intervals. When the jam at thehead of the rapids goes it will be a great sight. To-morrow I'll take abite to eat with me, and go down to the falls to watch what happens. Thank God for the coming of Spring! I'm pretty nearly at the end of myresources. I've read and re-read my few books and papers until I canalmost repeat the contents by heart. I've finished my desk, and thecandlesticks, and the frame for Clare's picture. But now I'll be able tomake my garden. And I can sod a little lawn in front of the house withbuffalo-grass. "

Clare looked at Stonor for an expression of opinion. 

The policeman murmured diffidently: "A real good sort. "

"Wait!" she said. "Listen to this. One of the first entries. " She readin a moved voice:

"They say that a man who lives cut off from his kind is bound todegenerate swiftly, but, by God! I won't have it so in my case. I'll beon my guard against the first symptoms. I shave every day and willcontinue to do so. Shaving is a symbol. I will keep my person and myhouse as trim as if I expected her to visit me hourly. Half of each dayI'll spend in useful manual labour of some kind, and half in reading andcontemplation. The power is mine to build or destroy myself with mythoughts. Well, I choose to build!"

Clare looked at Stonor again. 

"That is fine!" he said simply. 

"So you see--why I had to come, " she murmured. 

He did not see why the one followed necessarily on the other, nor did heunderstand why she felt impelled to explain it just then. But it seemedbetter to hold his peace. This revealing of Imbrie's worthy naturegreatly perplexed Stonor. It had been so easy to believe that the twomust have been parted as a result of something evil in Imbrie. He couldnot believe that it had been Clare's fault, however she might accuseherself. He was not yet experienced enough to conceive of a situationwhere two honest souls might come to a parting of the ways withouteither being especially to blame. 

For another long period they sat in silence. The influence of the nightmade itself felt even through the log walls of the shack. They wereaware of solitude as of a physical presence. The fire had burned down tostill embers, and down the chimney floated the inexpressibly mournfulbreath of the pines. The rapids made a hoarser note beyond. Clareshivered, and leaned closer over the fire. Stonor made a move to put onmore wood, but she stopped him. 

"Don't!" she said, with queer inconsistency. "It makes too much noise. "

Suddenly the awful stillness was broken by a heavy thudding sound on theground outside. A gasping cry was forced from Clare. Stonor sprang up, knocking over his chair, and made for the door. Getting it opened, heran outside. Off to his right he saw, or thought he saw, a suspiciousshadow, and he instantly made for it. Whereupon a sudden crashing intothe underbrush persuaded him it was no apparition. 

Clare's voice, sharp with terror, arrested him. "Martin, don't leaveme!"

He went back to her, suddenly realizing that to chase an unknown thingbare-handed through the bush at night was scarcely the part of prudence. He got his gun, and flung himself down across the sill of the open door, looking out. Nothing further was to be seen or heard. Beyond the littleclearing the river gleamed in the faint dusk. The canoes on the beachwere invisible from the door, being under the bank. 

"What do you think it was?" whispered Clare. 

"Something fell or jumped out of that big spruce nearest the back of thehouse. " To himself he added: "A natural place to hide. What a fool I wasnot to think of that before!"

"But what?" said Clare. 

Stonor said grimly: "There are only two tree-climbing animals in thiscountry heavy enough to make the sound we heard--bears and men. "

"A bear?"

"Maybe. But I never heard of a bear climbing a tree beside a house, andat night, too. Don't know what he went up for. "

"Oh, it couldn't be----" Clare began. She never finished. 

Stonor kept his vigil at the open door. He bade Clare throw ashes on theembers, that no light from behind might show him up. When she had doneit she crept across the floor and sat close beside him. Mary, apparently, had not been awakened. 

Minutes passed, and they heard no sounds except the rapids and thepines. Clare was perfectly quiet, and Stonor could not tell how she wasbearing the strain. He bethought himself that he had perhaps spoken hismind too clearly. To reassure her he said:

"It must have been a bear. "

"You do not think so really, " she said. A despairing little wail escapedher. "I don't understand! Oh, I don't understand! Why should he hidefrom us?"

Stonor could find little of comfort to say. "Morning will makeeverything clear, I expect. We shall be laughing at our fears then. "

The minutes grew into hours, and they remained in the same positions. Nature is merciful to humans, and little by little the strain was eased. The sharpness of their anxiety was dulled. They were conscious only of adogged longing for the dawn. At intervals Stonor suggested to Clare thatshe go lie down on the bed, but when she begged to remain beside him, hehad not the heart to insist. In all that time they heard nothing beyondthe natural sounds of the night; the stirrings of little furry footfallsamong the leaves; the distant bark of a fox. 

And then without the slightest warning the night was shattered by ablood-curdling shriek of terror from Mary Moosa in the room adjoining. Stonor's first thought was for the effect on Clare's nerves. He jumpedup, savagely cursing the Indian woman. He ran to the communicating door. Clare was close at his heels. 

Mary was lying on the floor, covering her head with her arms, moaningin an extremity of terror, and gibbering in her own tongue. For a whileshe could not tell them what was the matter. Stonor thought she wasdreaming. Then she began to cry in English: "Door! Door!" and to pointto it. Stonor made for the door, but Clare with a cry clung to him, andMary herself, scrambling on all fours, clutched him around the knees. Stonor felt exquisitely foolish. 

"Well, let me secure it, " he said gruffly. 

This door was fitted with a bar, which he swung into place. At thewindow across the room, he swung the shutter in, and fastened that also. 

"You see, " he said. "No one can get in here now. "

They took the shaking Mary into the next room. To give them a bettersense of security, Stonor tore the cotton out of the window and fastenedthis shutter also. There was no bar on this door. He preferred to leaveit open, and to mount guard in the doorway. 

Gradually Mary calmed down sufficiently to tell them what had happened. "Little noise wake me. I not know what it is. I listen. Hear it again. Come from door. I watch. Bam-bye I see the door open so slow, so slow. Iso scare can't cry. My tongue is froze. I see a hand pushin' the door. Isee a head stick in and listen. Then I get my tongue again. I cry out. Door close. I hear somebody runnin' outside. "

Stonor and Clare looked at each other. "Not much doubt about the kind ofanimal now, " said the former deprecatingly. 

Clare spread out her hands. "He must be mad, " she whispered. 

Mary and Clare clung to each other like sisters. Stonor remained at thedoor watching the clear space between the shack and the river. Nothingstirred there. Stonor heard no more untoward sounds. 

Fortunately for the nerves of the women the nights were short. Whilethey watched and prayed for the dawn, and told themselves it would nevercome, it was suddenly there. It came, and they could not see it come. The light stole between the trees; the leaves dressed themselves withcolour. A little breeze came from the river, and seemed to blow the lastof the murk away. By half-past three it was full day. 

"I must go out and look around, " said Stonor. 

Clare implored him not to leave them. 

"It is necessary, " he said firmly. 

"Your red coat is so conspicuous, " she faltered. 

"It is my safeguard, " he said; "that is, against humans. As for animals, I can protect myself. " He showed them his service revolver. 

He left them weeping. He went first to the big spruce-tree behind thehouse. He immediately saw, as he had expected, that a man had leaped outof the lower branches. There were the two deep prints of moccasinedfeet; two hand-prints also where he had fallen forward. He had no doubtcome down faster than he had intended. It was child's play after that tofollow his headlong course through the bush. Soon Stonor saw that he hadslackened his pace--no doubt at the moment when Stonor turned back tothe shack. Still the track was written clear. It made a wide detourthrough the bush, and came back to the door of the room where Mary hadbeen sleeping. The man had taken a couple of hours to make perhaps threehundred yards. He had evidently wormed himself along an inch at a time, to avoid giving an alarm. 

When Mary cried out he had taken back to the bush on the other side ofthe shack. Stonor, following the tracks, circled through the bush onthis side, and was finally led to the edge of the river-bank. Theinstant that he pushed through the bushes he saw that one of thebark-canoes was missing. Running to the place where they lay, he sawthat it was the one with the willow-bushes that was gone. No need tolook any further. There was nothing in view for the short distance thathe could see up-river. 

CHAPTER IX

THE FOOT

Stonor, returning to the shack, was hailed with joy as one who mighthave come back from Hades unscathed. He told Clare just what he hadfound. 

"What do you think?" she asked anxiously. 

"Isn't it clear? He saw us coming and took to the tree. There were somany tracks around the base of the tree that I was put off. He must havebeen hidden there all the time we were looking for him and shouting. Assoon as it got dark he tried to make his get-away, but his calculationswere somewhat upset by his falling. Even after we had taken warning, hehad to risk getting into his store-room, because all his food was there. No doubt he thought we would all be in the other room, and he couldsneak in and take what he could carry. When he was scared off by Mary'sscream he started his journey without it, that's all. "

"But why _should_ he run from us--from me?"

Stonor shrugged helplessly. 

She produced the little red book again. "Read something here, " she said, turning the pages. 

Under her directing finger, while she looked aside, he read: "Thehardest thing I have to contend against is my hunger for her. Disciplineis of little avail against that. I spend whole days wrestling withmyself, trying to get the better of it, and think I have conquered, onlyto be awakened at night by wanting her worse than ever. "

"Does that sound as if he wished to escape me?" she murmured. 

In her distress of mind it did not occur to her, of course, that thiswas rather a cruel situation for Stonor. He did not answer for a moment;then said in a low tone: "I am afraid his mind is unhinged. Yousuggested it. "

"I know, " she said quickly. "But I have been thinking it over. It can'tbe. Listen to this. " She hastily turned the pages of the little book. "What day is this?"

"The third of July. "

"This was written June 30th, only four days ago. It is the last entry inthe book. Listen!" She read, while the tears started to her eyes:

"I must try to get in some good books on natural history. If I couldmake better friends with the little wild things around me I need neverbe lonely. There is a young rabbit who seems disposed to hit it off withme. I toss him a bit of biscuit after breakfast every morning. He comesand waits for it now. He eats it daintily in my sight; then, with aflirt of his absurd tail for 'thank you, ' scampers down to the river towash it down. "

"Those are not the thoughts of a man out of his mind. "

"No, " he admitted, "but everything you have read shows him to be of asensitive, high-strung nature. On such a man the sudden shock of ourcoming----"

"Oh, then I have waited too long!" she cried despairingly. "And now Ican never repay!"

"Not necessarily, " said Stonor with a dogged patience. "Such cases arecommon in the North. But I never knew one to be incurable. "

She took this in, and it comforted her partly; but her thoughts werestill busy with matters remote from Stonor. After a while she askedabruptly: "What do you think we ought to do?"

"Start up the river at once, " he said. "We'll hear news of him on theway. We'll overtake him in the end. "

She stared at him with troubled eyes, pondering this suggestion. At lastshe slowly shook her head. "I don't think we ought to go, " she murmured. 

"What!" he cried, astonished. "You wish to stay here--after last night!Why?"

"I don't know, " she said helplessly. 

"But if the man is really not right, he needs looking after. We ought tohurry after him. "

"It seems so, " she said, still with the air of those who speak what isstrange to themselves; "but I have an intuition, a premonition--I don'tknow what to call it! Something tells me that we do not yet know thetruth. "

Stonor turned away helplessly. He could not argue against a woman'sreason like this. 

"Ah, don't be impatient with me, " she said appealingly. "Just waitto-day. If nothing happens during the day to throw any light on whatpuzzles us, I will make no more objections. I'll be willing to startthis afternoon, and camp up the river. "

"It will give him twelve hours' start of us. "

Her surprising answer was: "I don't think he's gone. "

 * * * * *

Stonor made his way over the old portage trail. He wished to have a lookat the Great Falls before returning up-river. Clare, waiting for whatshe could not have told, had chosen to remain at the shack, and MaryMoosa was not afraid to stay with her by daylight. Like Stonor, Marybelieved that the man had undoubtedly left the neighbourhood, and thatno further danger was to be apprehended from that quarter. 

Stonor went along abstractedly, climbing over the obstructions orcutting a way through, almost oblivious to his surroundings. His heartwas jealous and sore. His instinct told him that the man who hadprowled around the shack the night before was an evil-doer; yet Clarepersisted in exalting him to the skies. In his present temper it seemedto Stonor as if Clare purposely made his task as hard as possible forhim. In fact, the trooper had a grievance against the whole world. 

Suddenly he realized that his brain was simply chasing itself incircles. Stopping short, he shook himself much like a dog on issuingfrom the water. His will was to shake off the horrors of the past nightand his dread of the future. Better sense told him that only weaknesslay in dwelling on these things. Let things fall as they would, he wouldmeet them like a man, he hoped, and no more could be asked of him. Inthe meantime he would not worry himself into a stew. He went on with alighter breast. 

From the cutting in the trail Stonor saw that someone had travelled thatway a while before, probably during the previous season, for the cuts ongreen wood were half-healed. It was clear, from the amount of cutting hehad been obliged to do, that this traveller was the first that way inmany years. Stonor further saw from the style of his axe-work that hewas a white man; a white man chops a sapling with one stroke cleanthrough: a red man makes two chops, half-way through on each side. Thiswas pretty conclusive evidence that Imbrie had first come fromdown-river. 

This trail had not been used since, and Stonor, remembering thesuggestion in Imbrie's diary that he frequently visited the falls, supposed that he had some other way of reaching there. He determined tosee if it was practicable to make his way along the beach on the wayback. 

The trail did not take him directly to the falls, but in a certain placehe saw signs of an old side-path striking off towards the river, and, following this, he was brought out on a plateau of rock immediatelyabove the spot where the river stepped off into space. Here he stood fora moment to prepare himself for the sight before looking over. His eyewas caught by some ends of string fluttering from the branches of a bushbeside him. He was at a loss to account for their presence until heremembered Etzooah and his humble offerings to the Old Man. Here Etzooahhad tied his tobacco-bags. 

Approaching the brink, the river smoothed itself a little as ifgathering its forces for the leap, and over the edge itself it slippedsmoothly. It was true to a certain extent that the cataract muffled itsown voice, but the earth trembled. The gorge below offered a superbprospect. After the invariable flatness and tameness of the shoresabove, the sudden cleft in the world impressed the beholder stunningly. 

Then Stonor went to the extreme edge and looked over. A deep, dull roarsmote upon his ears; he was bewildered and satisfied. Knowing the Indianpropensity to exaggerate, he had half expected to find merely a cascadewilder than anything above; or perhaps a wide straggling series offalls. It was neither. The entire river gathered itself up, and plungedsheer into deep water below. The river narrowed down at the brink, andthe volume of water was stupendous. The drop was over one hundred feet. The water was of the colour of strong tea, and as it fell it drew overits brown sheen a lovely, creamy fleece of foam. Tight little curls ofspray puffed out of the falling water like jets of smoke, and, spreadingand descending, merged into the white cloud that rolled about the footof the falls. This cloud itself billowed up in successive undulationslike full draperies, only to spread out and vanish in the sunshine. 

Stonor had the solemn feeling that comes to the man who knows himself tobe among the first of his race to gaze on a great natural wonder. Heand Imbrie alone had seen this sight. What of the riddle of Imbrie?Doctor, magician, skulker in the night, madman perhaps--and Clare'shusband! Must he be haunted by him all his life? But the noble spectaclebefore Stonor's eyes calmed his nerves. All will be clear in the end, hetold himself. And nothing could destroy his thought of Clare. 

 * * * * *

He would liked to have remained for hours, but everything drew him backto the shack. He started back along the beach. On the whole it waseasier going than by the encumbered trail. There were no obstaclesexcept the low precipice that has been mentioned, and that proved to beno great matter to climb around. Meanwhile every foot of the rapidoffered a fascinating study to the river-man. This rapid seemed to goagainst all the customary rules for rapids. Nowhere in all its tornexpanse could Stonor pick a channel; the rocks stuck up everywhere. Henoticed that one could have returned in a canoe in safety from the verybrink of the falls by means of the back-waters that crept up the shore. 

His attention was caught by a log-jam out in the rapid. He had scarcelynoticed it the day before while searching for tracks. Two great rocks, that stuck out of the water close together where the current ranswiftest, had at some time caught an immense fallen tree squarely ontheir shoulders, and the pressure of the current held it there. Anothertree had caught on the obstruction, and another, and now the fantasticpile reared itself high out of the water. 

At the moment Stonor had no weightier matter on his mind than to puzzlehow this had come about. Suddenly his blood ran cold to perceive whatlooked like a human foot sticking out of the water at the bottom of thepile. He violently rubbed his eyes, thinking that they deceived him. But there was no mistake. It _was_ a foot, clad in a moccasin of theordinary style of the country. While Stonor looked it was agitated backand forth as in a final struggle. With a sickened breast, heinstinctively looked around for some means of rescue. But he immediatelyrealized that the owner of the foot was long past aid. The movement wasdue simply to the action of the current. 

His brain whirled dizzily. A foot? Whose foot? Imbrie's? There was noother man anywhere near. But Imbrie knew the place so well he could nothave been carried down, unless he had chosen to end his life that way. And his anxiety to obtain food the night before did not suggest that hehad any intention of putting himself out of the way. Perhaps it was anIndian drowned up-river and carried down. But they would surely haveheard of the accident on the way. More likely Imbrie. If his brain wasunhinged, who could say what wild impulse might seize him? Was this thereason for Clare's premonition? If it was Imbrie, how could he tell her?

Stonor forced down the mounting horror that constricted his throat, andsoberly bethought himself of what he must do. Useless to speculate onwhose the body might be; he had to find out. He examined the place upand down with fresh care. The log-jam was about half-a-mile above thefalls, and a slightly lesser distance below Imbrie's shack. It wasnearer his side of the river than the other; say, fifty yards of tornwhite water lay between the drift-pile and the beach. To wade or swimout was out of the question. On the other hand, the strongest flow ofwater, the channel such as it was, set directly for the obstruction, andit might be possible to drop down on it from above--if one provided somemeans for getting back again. Stonor marked the position of every rock, every reef above, and little by little made his plan. 

He returned to the shack. In her present state of nerves he dared nottell Clare of what he had found. In any case he might be mistaken in hissupposition as to the identity of the body. In that case she need neverbe told. He was careful to present himself with a smooth face. 

"Any news?" cried Clare eagerly. "You've been gone so long!"

He shook his head. "Anything here?"

"Nothing. I am ready to go now as soon as we have eaten. "

Stonor, faced with the necessity of suddenly discovering some reason fordelaying their start, stroked his chin. "Have you slept?" he asked. 

"How could I sleep?"

"I don't think you ought to start until you've had some sleep. "

"I can sleep later. "

"I need sleep too. And Mary. "

"Of course! How selfish of me! We can start towards evening, then. "

While Clare was setting the biscuits to the fire in the shack, andStonor was chopping wood outside, Mary came out for an armful of wood. The opportunity of speaking to her privately was too good to be missed. 

"Mary, " said Stonor. "There's a dead body caught in the rapids belowhere. "

"Wah!" she cried, letting the wood fall. "You teenk it is _him_?"

"I don't know. I suppose so. I've got to find out. "

"Find out? In the rapids? How you goin' find out? You get carry over thefalls!"

"Not so loud! I've got it all doped out. I'm taking no unnecessarychances. But I'll need you to help me. "

"I not help you, " said Mary rebelliously. "I not help you drownyourself--for a dead man. He's dead anyhow. If you go over the fallswhat we do? What we do?"

"Easy! I told you I had a good plan. Wait and see what it is. Get her tosleep this afternoon, and we'll try to pull it off before she wakes. Nowrun on in, or she'll wonder what we're talking about. Don't showanything in your face. "

Mary's prime accomplishment lay in hiding her feelings. She picked upher wood, and went stolidly into the shack. 

Stonor, searching among Imbrie's things, was much reassured to find atracking-line. This, added to his own line, would give him six hundredfeet of rope, which he judged ample for his purpose. He spliced the twowhile the meal was preparing. 

"What's that for?" Clare asked. 

"To help us up-stream. "

As soon as he had eaten he went back to the beach. His movements herewere invisible to those in the shack. He carried the remainingbark-canoe on his back down the beach to a point about a hundred andfifty yards above the log-jam. This was to be his point of departure. Hetook a fresh survey of the rapids, and went over and over in his mindthe course he meant to take. 

After cutting off several short lengths that he required for variouspurposes, Stonor fastened the end of the line to a tree on the edge ofthe bank; the other end he made fast to the stern of the canoe--not tothe point of the stern, but to the stern-thwart where it joined thegunwale. This was designed to hold the canoe at an angle against thecurrent that would keep her out in the stream. The slack of the line wascoiled neatly on the beach. 

With one of the short lengths Stonor then made an offset from this linenear where it was fastened to the thwart, and passed it around his ownbody under the arms. Thus, if the canoe smashed on the rocks orswamped, by cutting the line at the thwart the strain would betransferred to Stonor's body, and the canoe could be left to its fate. Another short length with a loop at the end was made fast at the otherend of the thwart. This was for the purpose of making fast to thelog-jam while Stonor worked to free the body. A third piece of line hecarried around his neck. This was to secure the body. 

During the course of these preparations Mary joined him. She reportedthat Clare was fast asleep. Stonor made a little prayer that she mightnot awaken till this business was over. 

He explained to Mary what he was about, and showed her her part. Shelistened sullenly, but, seeing that his mind was made up, shrugged atthe uselessness of opposing his will. Mary was to pay out the ropeaccording to certain instructions, and afterwards to haul him in. 

Finally, after reassuring himself of the security of all his knots, hedivested himself of hat, tunic, and boots and stepped into the canoe. Heshook hands with Mary, took his knife between his teeth, and pushed off. He made as much as he could out of the back-water alongshore, and then, heading diagonally up-stream, shot out into the turmoil, paddling like aman possessed in order to make sure of getting far enough out before thecurrent swept him abreast of his destination. Mary, according toinstructions, paid out the rope freely. Before starting he had markedevery rock in his course, and he avoided them now by instinct. Histhinking had been done beforehand. He worked like a machine. 

He saw that he was going to make it, with something to spare. When hehad the log-jam safely under his quarter, he stopped paddling, and, bringing the canoe around, drifted down on it. There was plenty ofwater out here. He held up a hand to Mary, and according topre-arrangement she gradually took up the strain on the line. The canoeslowed up, and the current began to race past. 

So far so good. The line held the canoe slightly broached to thecurrent, thus the pressure of the current itself kept him from edgingashore. The log-pile loomed up squarely ahead of him. Mary let him downon it hand over hand. He manoeuvred himself abreast an immense logpointing up and down river, alongside of which the current slippedsilkily. Casting his loop over the stump of a branch, he was held fastand the strain was taken off Mary's arms. 

The moccasined foot protruded from the water at the bow of his canoe. Hesoon saw the impossibility of attempting to work from the frail canoe, so he untied the rope which bound him to it, and pulled himself out onthe logs. The rope from the shore was still around his body in case of aslip. He was taking no unnecessary chances. 

The body was caught in some way under the same great log that his canoewas fastened to. The current tore at the projecting foot with a snarl. The foot oscillated continually under the pull, and sometimesdisappeared altogether, only to spring back into sight with a ghastlylife-like motion. Stonor cautiously straddled the log, and gropedbeneath it. His principal anxiety was that log and all might come awayfrom the jam and be carried down, but there was little danger that hisinsignificant weight would disturb so great a bulk. 

The body was caught in the fork of a branch underneath. He succeeded infreeing the other foot. He guessed that a smart pull up-stream wouldliberate the whole, but in that case the current would almost surelysnatch it from his grasp. He saw that it would be an impossible taskfrom his insecure perch to drag the body out on the log, and in turnload it into the fragile canoe. His only chance lay in towing it ashore. 

So, with the piece of line he had brought for the purpose, he lashed thefeet together, and made the other end fast to the bow-thwart of thecanoe. Then he got in and adjusted his stern-line as before--it becamethe bow-line for the return journey. In case it should become necessaryto cut adrift from the canoe, he took the precaution of passing a linedirect from his body to that which he meant to tow. When all was readyhe signalled to Mary to haul in. 

Now began the most difficult half of his journey. On the strength ofMary's arms depended the freeing of the body. It came away slowly. Stonor had an instant's glimpse of the ghastly tow bobbing astern, before settling down to the business in hand. For awhile all went well, though the added pull of the submerged body put a terrific strain onMary. Fortunately she was as strong as a man. Stonor aided her all hecould with his paddle, but that was little. He was kept busy fending hisegg-shell craft off the rocks. He had instructed Mary, as the slackaccumulated, to walk gradually up the beach. This was to avoid thedanger of the canoe's broaching too far to the current. But Mary couldnot do it under the increased load. The best she could manage was tobrace her body against the stones, and pull in hand over hand. 

As the line shortened Stonor saw that he was going to have trouble. Instead of working in-shore, the canoe was edging further into thestream, and ever presenting a more dangerous angle to the tearingcurrent. Mary had pulled in about a third of the line, when suddenly thecanoe, getting the current under her dead rise, darted out intomid-stream like a fish at the end of a line, and hung there cantingdangerously. The current snarled along the gunwale like an animalpreparing to crush its prey. 

The strain on Mary was frightful. She was extended at full length withher legs braced against an outcrop of rock. Stonor could see heragonized expression. He shouted to her to slack off the line, but ofcourse the roar of the water drowned his puny voice. In dumb-play hetried desperately to show her what to do, but Mary was possessed of butone idea, to hang on until her arms were pulled out. 

The canoe tipped inch by inch, and the boiling water crept up itsfreeboard. Finally it swept in, and Stonor saw that all was over withthe canoe. With a single stroke of his knife he severed the rope at thethwart behind him; with another stroke the rope in front. When the tugcame on his body he was jerked clean out of the canoe. It passed out ofhis reckoning. By the drag behind him, he knew he still had the deadbody safe. 

He instinctively struck out, but the tearing water, mocking his feebleefforts, buffeted him this way and that as with the swing of giant arms. Sometimes he was spun helplessly on the end of his line like atrolling-spoon. He was flung sideways around a boulder and pressed thereby the hands of the current until it seemed the breath was slowlyleaving his body. Dazed, blinded, gasping, he somehow managed tostruggle over it, and was cast further in-shore. The tendency of thecurrent was to sweep him in now. If he could only keep alive! The stoneswere thicker in-shore. He was beaten first on one side, then the other. All his conscious efforts were reduced to protecting his head from therocks with his arms. 

The water may have been but a foot or two deep, but of course he couldgain no footing. He still dragged his leaden burden. All the breath wasknocked out of him under the continual blows, but he was conscious of nopain. The last few moments were a blank. He found himself in theback-water, and expended his last ounce of strength in crawling out onhands and knees on the beach. He cast himself flat, sobbing for breath. 

Mary came running to his aid. He was able to nod to her reassuringly, and in the ecstasy of her relief, she sat down suddenly, and wept like awhite woman. Stonor gathered himself together and sat up groaning. Theonset of pain was well-nigh unendurable. He felt literally as if hisflesh all over had been pounded to a jelly. But all his limbs, fortunately, responded to their functions. 

"Lie still, " Mary begged of him. 

He shook his head. "I must keep moving, or I'll become as helpless as alog. "

The nameless thing was floating in the back-water. Together they draggedit out on the stones. It was Stonor's first sight of that which had costhim such pains to secure. He nerved himself to bear it. Mary was no finelady, but she turned her head away. The man's face was totallyunrecognizable by reason of the battering it had received on the rocks;his clothes were partly in ribbons; there was a gaping wound in thebreast. 

For the rest, as far as Stonor could judge, it was the body of a youngman, and a comely one. His skin was dark like that of an Italian, or awhite man with a quarter or eighth strain of Indian blood in his veins. Stonor was astonished by this fact; nothing that he had heard hadsuggested that Imbrie was not as white as himself. This put a new lookon affairs. For an instant Stonor doubted. But the man's hand waswell-formed and well-kept; and in what remained of his clothes one couldstill see the good materials and the neatness. In fact, it could be noneother than Imbrie. 

He was roused from his contemplation of the gruesome object by a sharpexclamation from Mary. Looking up, he saw Clare a quarter of a mileaway, hastening to them along the beach. His heart sank. 

"Go to her, " he said quickly. "Keep her from coming here. "

Mary hastened away. Stonor followed more slowly, disguising his sorenessas best he could. For him it was cruel going over the stones--yet allthe way he was oddly conscious of the beauty of the wild cascade, sweeping down between its green shores. 

As he had feared, Clare refused to be halted by Mary. Thrusting theIndian woman aside, she came on to Stonor. 

"What's the matter?" she cried stormily. "Why did you both leave me? Whydoes she try to stop me?--Why! you're all wet! Where's your tunic, yourboots? You're in pain!"

"Come to the house, " he said. "I'll tell you. "

She would not be put off. "What has happened? I insist on knowing now!What is there down there I mustn't see?"

"Be guided by me, " he pleaded. "Come away, and I'll tell youeverything. "

"I _will_ see!" she cried. "Do you wish to put me out of my mind withsuspense?"

He saw that it was perhaps kinder not to oppose her. "I have found abody in the river, " he said. "Do not look at it. Let me tell you. "

She broke away from him. "I must know the worst, " she muttered. 

He let her go. She ran on down the beach, and he hobbled after. Shestopped beside the body, and looked down with wide, wild eyes. Onedreadful low cry escaped her. 

"Ernest!"

She collapsed. Stonor caught her sagging body. Her head fell limply backover his arm. 

CHAPTER X

THE START HOME

Stonor, refusing aid from Mary, painfully carried his burden all the wayback to the shack. He laid her on the bed. There was no sign ofreturning animation. Mary loosened her clothing, chafed her hands, anddid what other offices her experience suggested. After what seemed likean age to the watchers, she stirred and sighed. Stonor dreaded then whatrecollection would bring to her awakening. But there was neither griefnor terror in the quiet look she bent first on one then the other; onlya kind of annoyed perplexity. She closed her eyes again withoutspeaking, and presently her deepened breathing told them that she slept. 

"Thank God!" whispered Stonor. "It's the best thing for her. "

Mary followed him out of the shack. "Watch her close, " he charged her. "If you want me for anything come down to the beach and hail. "

Stonor procured another knife and returned to the body. In the light ofClare's identification he could have no further doubt that this wasindeed the remains of the unhappy Imbrie. She had her own means ofidentification, he supposed. The man, undoubtedly deranged, must havepushed off in his canoe and let the current carry him to his death. Stonor, however, thinking of the report he must make to his commandingofficer, knew that his speculations were not sufficient. Much as hedisliked the necessity, it was incumbent on him to perform an autopsy. 

This developed three surprising facts in this order: (a) there was nowater in the dead man's lungs, proving that he was already dead when hisbody entered the water: (b) there was a bullet-hole through his heart:(c) the bullet itself was lodged in his spine. 

For a moment Stonor thought of murder--but only for a moment. Aglance showed him that the bullet was of thirty-eight calibre, arevolver-bullet. Revolvers are unknown to the Indians. Stonor knewthat there were no revolvers in all the country round except his own, Gaviller's forty-four, and one that the dead man himself might havepossessed. Consequently he saw no reason to change his original theoryof suicide. Imbrie, faced by that terrible drop, had merely hastenedthe end by putting a bullet through his heart. 

Stonor kept the bullet as possible evidence. He then looked about for asuitable burial-place. His instinct was to provide the poor fellow witha fair spot for his last long rest. Up on top of the low precipice ofrock that has been mentioned, there was a fine point of vantage visibleup-river beyond the head of the rapids. At no small pains Stonor draggedthe body up here, and with his knife dug him a shallow grave between theroots of a conspicuous pine. It was a long, hard task. He covered himwith brush in lieu of a coffin, and, throwing the earth back, heaped acairn of stones on top. Placing a flat stone in the centre, he scratchedthe man's name on it and the date. He spoke no articulate prayer, butthought one perhaps. 

"Sleep well, old fellow. It seems I was never to know you, though youhaunted me--and may perhaps haunt me still. "

Dragging himself wearily back to the shack, Stonor found that Clarestill slept. 

"Fine!" he said with clearing face. "There's no doctor like sleep!"

His secret dread was that she might become seriously ill. What would hedo in that case, so far away from help?

He sat himself down to watch beside Clare while Mary prepared theevening meal. There were still some three hours more of daylight, and hedecided to be guided as to their start up-river by Clare's conditionwhen she awoke. If she had a horror of the place they could start atonce, provided she were able to travel, and sleep under canvas. Otherwise it would be well to wait until morning, for he was prettynearly all in himself. Indeed, while he waited with the keenest anxietyfor Clare's eyes to open, his own closed. He slept with his head fallenforward on his breast. 

He awoke to find Clare's wide-open eyes wonderingly fixed on him. 

"Who are you?" she asked. 

It struck a chill to his breast. Was she mad? This was a more dreadfulhorror than he had foreseen. Yet there was nothing distraught in hergaze, merely that same look of perplexed annoyance. It was anappreciable moment before he could collect his wits sufficiently toanswer. 

"Your friend, " he said, forcing himself to smile. 

"Yes, I think you are, " she said slowly. "But it's funny I don't quiteknow you. "

"You soon will. "

"What is your name?"

"Martin Stonor. "

"And that uniform you are wearing?"

"Mounted police. "

She raised herself a little, and looked around. The puzzled expressiondeepened. "What a strange-looking room! What am I doing in such aplace?"

To Stonor it was like a conversation in a dream. It struck awe to hisbreast. Yet he forced himself to answer lightly and cheerfully. "Thisis a shack in the woods where we are camping temporarily. We'll startfor home as soon as you are able. "

"Home? Where is that?" she cried like a lost child. 

A great hard lump rose in Stonor's throat. He could not speak. 

After a while she said: "I feel all right. I could eat. "

"That's fine!" he cried from the heart. "That's the main thing. Supperwill soon be ready. "

The next question was asked with visible embarrassment. "You are not mybrother, are you, or any relation?"

"No, only your friend, " he said, smiling. 

She was troubled like a child, biting her lip, and turning her face fromhim to hide the threatening tears. There was evidently some question shecould not bring herself to ask. He could not guess what it was. Certainly not the one she did ask. 

"What time is it?"

"Past seven o'clock. "

"That means nothing to me, " she burst out bitterly. "It's like the firsthour to me. It's so foolish to be asking such questions! I don't knowwhat's the matter with me! I don't even know my own name!"

That was it! "Your name is Clare Starling, " he said steadily. 

"What am I doing in a shack in the woods?"

He hesitated before answering this. His first fright had passed. He hadheard of people losing their memories, and knew that it was notnecessarily a dangerous state. Indeed, now, this wiping-out ofrecollection seemed like a merciful dispensation, and he dreaded theword that would bring the agony back. 

"Don't ask any more questions now, " he begged her. "Just rest up for themoment, and take things as they come. "

"Something terrible has happened!" she said agitatedly. "That is why Iam like this. You're afraid to tell me what it is. But I must know. Nothing could be so bad as not knowing anything. It is unendurable notto have any identity. Don't you understand? I am empty inside here. Theme is gone!"

He arose and stood beside her bed. "I ask you to trust me, " he saidgravely. "I am the only doctor available. If you excite yourself likethis only harm can come of it. Everything is all right now. You havenothing to fear. People who lose their memories always get them backagain. If you do not remember of yourself I promise to tell youeverything that has happened. "

"I will try to be patient, " she said dutifully. 

Presently she asked: "Is there no one here but us? I thought Iremembered a woman--or did I dream it?"

Stonor called Mary in and introduced her. Clare's eyes widened. "AnIndian woman!" their expression said. 

Stonor said, as if speaking of the most everyday matter: "Mary, MissStarling's memory is gone. It will soon return, of course, and in themeantime plenty of food and sleep are the best things for her. She haspromised me not to ask any more questions for the present. "

Mary paled slightly. To her, loss of memory smacked of insanity of whichshe was terribly in awe--like all her race. However, under Stonor'sstern eye she kept her face pretty well. 

Clare said: "I'd like to get up now, " and Stonor left the shack. 

Nothing further happened that night. Clare ate a good supper, and a bitof colour returned to her cheeks. Stonor had no reason to be anxiousconcerning her physical condition. She asked no more questions. Immediately after eating he sent her and Mary to bed. Shortlyafterwards Mary reported that Clare had fallen asleep again. 

Stonor slept in the store-room. He was up at dawn, and by sunrise he hadeverything ready for the start up-river. 

It was an entirely self-possessed Clare that issued from the shack afterbreakfast, yet there was something inaccessible about her. Though shewas anxious to be friends with Stonor and Mary, she was cut off fromthem. They had to begin all over again with her. There was somethingpiteous in the sight of the little figure so alone even among herfriends; but she was bearing it pluckily. 

She looked around her eagerly. The river was very lovely, with the sundrinking up the light mist from its surface. 

"What river is this?" she asked. 

Stonor told her. 

"It is not altogether strange to me, " she said. "I feel as if I mighthave known it in a previous existence. There is a fall below, isn'tthere?"

"Yes. "

"How do you suppose I knew that?"

He shrugged, smiling. 

"And the--the catastrophe happened down there, " she said diffidently. Henodded. 

"I feel it like a numb place inside me. But I don't want to go downthere. I feel differently from yesterday. Some day soon, of course, Imust turn back the dreadful pages, but not quite yet. I want a littlesunshine and laziness and sleep first; a little vacation from trouble. "

"That's just as it should be, " said Stonor, much relieved. 

"Isn't it funny, I can't remember anything that ever happened to me, yetI haven't forgotten everything I knew. I know the meaning of things. Istill seem to talk like a grown-up person. Words come to me when I needthem. How do you explain that?"

"Well, I suppose it's because just one little department of your brainhas stopped working for a while. "

"Well, I'm not going to worry. The world is beautiful. "

 * * * * *

The journey up-stream was a toilsome affair. Though the current betweenthe rapids was not especially swift, it made a great difference whenwhat had been added to their rate of paddling on the way down, wasdeducted on the way back. Stonor foresaw that it would take them closeon ten days to make the Horse-Track. He and Mary took turns tracking thecanoe from the bank, while the other rested. Clare steered. Ascendingthe rapids presented no new problems to a river-man, but it wasdownright hard work. All hands joined in pulling and pushing, carelessof how they got wet. 

The passing days brought no change in Clare's mental state, and inStonor the momentary dread of some thought or word that might bringrecollection crashing back, was gradually lulled. Physically she showedan astonishing improvement, rejoicing in the hard work in the rapids, eating and sleeping like a growing boy. To Stonor it was enchanting tosee the rosy blood mantle her pale cheeks and the sparkle of bodilywell-being enhance her eyes. With this new tide of health came a stouterresistance to imaginative terrors. Away with doubts and questionings!For the moment the physical side of her was uppermost. It was Nature'sown way of effecting a cure. Towards Stonor, in this new character ofhers, she displayed a hint of laughing boldness that enraptured him. 

At first he would not let himself believe what he read in her new gaze;that the natural woman who had sloughed off the burdens of an unhappypast was disposed to love him. But of course he could not really resistso sweet a suggestion. Let him tell himself all he liked that he wasliving in a fool's paradise; that when recollection returned, as it mustin the end, she would think no more of him; nevertheless, when shelooked at him like that, he could not help being happy. The journey tookon a thousand new delights for him; such delights as his solitary youthhad never known. At least, he told himself, there was no sin in it, forthe only man who had a better claim on her was dead and buried. 

One night they were camped beside some bare tepee poles on a point ofthe bank. Mary had gone off to set a night-line in an eddy; Stonor layon his back in the grass smoking, and Clare sat near, nursing her knees. 

"You've forbidden me to ask questions about myself, " said she; "but howabout you?"

"Oh, there's nothing to tell about me. "

She affected to study him with a disinterested air. "I don't believe youhave a wife, " she said wickedly. "You haven't a married look. "

"What kind of a look is that?"

"Oh, a sort of apologetic look. "

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm not married, " he said, grinning. 

"Have you a sweetheart?" she asked in her abrupt way, so like a boy's. 

Stonor regarded his pipe-bowl attentively, but did not thereby succeedin masking his blushes. 

"Aha! You have!" she cried. "No need to answer. "

"That depends on what you mean, " he said, determined not to let heroutface him. "If you mean a regular cut and dried affair, no. "

"But you're in love. "

"Some might say so. "

"Don't you say so?"

"I don't know. I've had no instruction on the subject. "

"Pshaw! It's a poor kind of man that needs instruction!"

"I daresay. "

"Tell me, and maybe I can instruct you. "

"How can you tell the untellable?"

"Well, for instance, do you like to be with her?"

Stonor affected to study the matter. "No, " he said. 

She gave him so comical a look of rebuke that he laughed outright. "Imean I'm uncomfortable whether I'm with her or away from her, " heexplained. 

"There may be something in that, " she admitted. "Have you ever toldher?"

"No. "

"Why don't you tell her like a man?"

"Things are not as simple as all that. "

"Obstacles, eh?"

"Rather!"

A close observer might have perceived under Clare's scornful chaffingthe suggestion of a serious and anxious purpose. "Bless me! this isgetting exciting!" she said. "Maybe the lady has a husband?"

"No, not that. "

A glint of relief showed under her lowered lids. "What's the trouble, then?"

"Oh, just my general unworthiness, I guess. "

"I don't think you can love her very much, " she said, with pretendedscorn. 

"Perhaps not, " he said, refusing to be drawn. 

She allowed the subject to drop. It was characteristic of Clare in herlighter moments that her conversation skipped from subject to subjectlike a chamois on the heights. Those who knew her well, though, began tosuspect in the end that there was often a method in her skipping. Shenow talked of the day's journey, of the weather, of Mary's goodcooking, of a dozen minor matters. After a long time, when he mightnaturally be supposed to have forgotten what they had started with, shesaid offhand:

"Do you mind if I ask one question about myself?"

"Fire away. "

"You told me my name was Miss Clare Starling. "

"Do you suspect otherwise?"

"What am I doing with a wedding-ring?"

It took him unawares. He stared at her a little clownishly. "I--I nevernoticed it, " he stammered. 

"It's hanging on a string around my neck. "

"Your husband is dead, " he said bluntly. 

She cast down her eyes. "Was that--the catastrophe that happened uphere?"

While he wished to keep the information from her as long as possible, hecould not lie to her. "Yes, " he said. "Don't ask any more. "

She bowed as one who acknowledges the receipt of information notpersonally important. "One more question; was he a good man, a man yourespected?"

"Oh, yes, " he said quickly. 

She looked puzzled. "Strange I should feel no sense of loss, " shemurmured. 

"You had been parted from him for a long time. "

They fell silent. The charming spell that had bound them was effectuallybroken. She shivered delicately, and announced her intention of going tobed. 

But in the morning she showed him a shining morning face. To ariserefreshed from sleep, hungry for one's breakfast, and eager for theday's journey, was enough for her just now. She was living in herinstincts. Her instinct told her that Stonor loved her, and thatsufficed her. The dreadful things might wait. 

Having ascended the last rapid, they found they could make better timeby paddling the dug-out, keeping close under the shore as the Kakisasdid, and cutting across from side to side on the inside of each bend tokeep out of the strongest of the current. The seating arrangement wasthe same as at their start; Mary in the bow, Stonor in the stern, andClare facing Stonor. Thus all day long their eyes were free to dwell oneach other, nor did they tire. They had reached that perfect stage wherethe eyes confess what the tongue dares not name; that charming stage offolly when lovers tell themselves they are still safe because nothinghas been spoken. As a matter of fact it is with words that the way tomisunderstanding is opened. One cannot misunderstand happy eyes. Meanwhile they were satisfied with chaffing each other. 

"Martin, I wonder how old I am. "

He studied her gravely. "I shouldn't say more than thirty-three orfour. "

"You wretch! I'll get square with you for that! I can start with any ageI want. I'll be eighteen. "

"That's all right, if you can get away with it. If I could keep you uphere awhile maybe you could knock off a little more. "

"Oh, Martin, if one could only travel on this river for ever! It's soblessed not to have to think of things!"

"Suit me all right. But I suppose Mary wants to see her kids. "

"Let her go. "

Her eyes fell under the rapt look that involuntarily leapt up in his. "Imean we could get somebody else, " she murmured. 

Stonor pulled himself up short. "Unfortunately there's the force, " hesaid lightly. "If I don't go back and report they'll come after me. "

"What is this place we are going to, Martin?"

"Fort Enterprise. "

"I am like a person hanging suspended in space. I neither know where Icame from, nor where I am going. What is Fort Enterprise like?"

"A trading-post. "

"Your home?"

"Such as it is. "

"Why 'such as it is'?"

"Well, it's a bit of a hole. "

"No society?"

"Society!" He laughed grimly. 

"Aren't there any girls there?"

"Devil a one!--except Miss Pringle, the parson's sister, and she'sconsiderable oldish. "

"Don't you know any real girls, Martin?"

"None but you, Clare. "

She bent an odd, happy glance on him. It meant: "Is it possible that Iam the first with him?"

"Why do you look at me like that?" he asked. 

"Oh, you're rather nice to look at, " she said airily. 

"Thanks, " he said, blushing. He was modest, but that sort of thingdoesn't exactly hurt the most modest of men. "Same to you!"

 * * * * *

They camped that night on a little plateau of sweet grass, and aftersupper Mary told tales by the fire. Mary, bland and uncensorious, was aperfect chaperon. What she thought of the present situation Stonor neverknew. He left it to Clare to come to an understanding with her. Thatthey shared many a secret from which he was excluded, he knew. Mary hadsoon recovered from her terror of Clare's seeming illness. 

"This the story of the Wolf-Man, " she began. "Once on a tam there was aman had two bad wives. They had no shame. That man think maybe if he goaway where there were no other people he can teach those women to begood, so he move his lodge away off on the prairie. Near where they campwas a high hill, and every evenin' when the sun go under the man go upon top of the hill, and look all over the country to see where thebuffalo was feeding, and see if any enemies come. There was abuffalo-skull on that hill which he sit on. 

"In the daytime while he hunt the women talk. 'This is ver' lonesome, 'one say. 'We got nobody talk to, nobody to visit. '

"Other woman say: 'Let us kill our husband. Then we go back to ourrelations, and have good time. '

"Early in the morning the man go out to hunt. When he gone his wives goup the hill. Dig deep pit, and cover it with sticks and grass and dirt. And put buffalo-skull on top. 

"When the shadows grow long they see their husband coming home all bentover with the meat he kill. So they mak' haste to cook for him. After hedone eating he go up on the hill and sit down on the skull. Wah! thesticks break, and he fall in pit. His wives are watching him. When hefall in they take down the lodge, pack everything, and travel to themain camp of their people. When they get near the big camp they begin tocry loud and tear their clothes. 

"The people come out. Say: 'Why is this? Why you cry? Where is yourhusband?'

"Women say: 'He dead. Five sleeps ago go out to hunt. Never come back. 'And they cry and tear their clothes some more. 

"When that man fall in the pit he was hurt. Hurt so bad can't climb out. Bam-bye wolf traveling along come by the pit and see him. Wolf feelsorry. 'Ah-h-woo-o-o! Ah-h-woo-o-o!' he howl. Other wolves hear. Allcome running. Coyotes, badgers, foxes come too. 

"Wolf say: 'In this hole is my find. It is a man trapped. We dig him outand have him for our brother. '

"All think wolf speak well. All begin to dig. Soon they dig a holeclose to the man. Then the wolf say: 'Wait! I want to say something. 'All the animals listen. Wolf say: 'We all have this man for our brother, but I find him, so I say he come live with the big wolves. ' The otherssay this is well, so the wolf tear down the dirt and drag the man out. He is almost dead. They give him a kidney to eat and take him to thelodge of the big wolves. Here there is one old blind wolf got verystrong medicine. Him make that man well, and give him head and handslike wolf. 

"In those days long ago the people make little holes in the walls of thecache where they keep meat, and set snares. When wolves and otheranimals come to steal meat they get caught by the neck. One night wolvesall go to the cache to steal meat. When they come close man-wolf say:'Wait here little while, I go down and fix place so you not get caught. 'So he go and spring all the snares. Then he go back and get wolves, coyotes, badgers and foxes, and all go in the cache and make feast andcarry meat home. 

"In the morning the people much surprise' find meat gone and snaressprung. All say, how was that done? For many nights the meat is stolenand the snares sprung. But one night when the wolves go there to stealfind only meat of a tough buffalo-bull. So the man-wolf was angry andcry out:

"'Bad-you-give-us-ooo! Bad-you-give-us-ooo!'

"The people hear and say: 'It is a man-wolf who has done all this. Wecatch him now!' So they put nice back-fat and tongue in the cache, andhide close by. After dark the wolves come. When the man-wolf see thatgood food he run to it and eat. Then the people run in and catch himwith ropes and take him to a lodge. Inside in the light of the fire theysee who it is. They say: 'This is the man who was lost!'

"Man say: 'No. I not lost. My wives try to kill me. ' And he tell themhow it was. He say: 'The wolves take pity on me or I die there. '

"When the people hear this they angry at those bad women, and they tellthe man to do something about it. 

"Man say: 'You say well. I give them to the Bull-Band, the Punishers ofWrong. '

"After that night those two women were never seen again. "

Mary Moosa, when one of her stories went well, with the true instinct ofa story-teller could seldom be persuaded to follow it with another, fearing an anti-climax perhaps. She turned in under her little tent, andsoon thereafter trumpeted to the world that she slept. 

Stonor and Clare were left together with self-conscious, downcast eyes. All day they had longed for this moment, and now that it had come theywere full of dread. Their moods had changed; chaffing was for sunnymornings on the river; in the exquisite, brooding dusk they hungered foreach other. Yet both still told themselves that the secret was safe fromthe other. Finally Clare with elaborate yawns bade Stonor good-night anddisappeared under her tent. 

An instinct that he could not have analysed told him she would be outagain. Half-way down the bank in a little grassy hollow he made a nestfor her with his blankets. When she did appear over the top of the bankshe surveyed these preparations with a touch of haughty surprise. Shehad a cup in her hand. 

"Were you going to spend the night here?" she asked. 

"No, " he said, much confused. 

"What is this for, then?"

"I just hoped that you might come out and sit for a while. "

"What reason had you to think that?"

"No reason. I just hoped it. "

"Oh! I thought you were in bed. I just came out to get a drink. "

Stonor, considerably dashed, took the cup and brought her water from theriver. She sipped it and threw the rest away. He begged her to sit down. 

She sat in a tentative sort of way, and declined to be wrapped up. "Ican only stay a minute. "

"Have you a pressing engagement?" he asked aggrievedly. 

"One must sleep some time, " she said rebukingly. 

Stonor, totally unversed in the ways of women, was crushed by herchanged air. He looked away, racking his brains to hit on what he couldhave done to offend her. She glanced at him out of the tail of her eye, and a wicked little dimple appeared in one cheek. He was sufficientlypunished. She was mollified. But it was so sweet to feel her power overhim, that she could not forbear using it just a little. 

"What's the matter?" he asked sullenly. 

"Why, nothing!" she said with an indulgent smile, such as she might havegiven a small boy. 

An intuition told him that in a way it was like dealing with an Indian;to ask questions would only put him at a disadvantage. He must patientlywait until the truth came out of itself. 

In silence he chose the weapon she was least proof against. She tried toout-silence him, but soon began to fidget. "You're not very talkative, "she said at last. 

"I only seem to put my foot in it. "

"You're very stupid. "

"No doubt. "

She got up. "I'm going back to bed. "

"Sorry, we don't seem to be able to hit it off after supper. "

"I'd like to beat you!" she cried with a little gust of passion. 

This was more encouraging. "Why?" he asked, grinning. 

"You're so dense!"

At last he understood, and a great peace filled him. "Sit down, " he saidcoaxingly. "Let's be friends. We only have nine days more. "

This took her by surprise. She sat. "Why only nine days?"

"When we get out your life will claim you. This little time will seemlike a dream. "

She began to see then, and her heart warmed towards him. "Now Iunderstand what's the matter with you!" she cried. "You think that I amnot myself now; that this me which is talking to you is not the real me, but a kind of--what do they call it?--a kind of changeling. And thatwhen we get back to the world, or some day soon, this me will be whiskedaway again, and my old self come back and take possession of my body. "

"Something like that, " he said, with a rueful smile. 

"Oh, you hurt me when you talk like that!" she cried. "You are wrong, quite, quite wrong! This is my ownest self that speaks to you now; thatis--that is your friend, and it will never change! Think a little. WhatI have lost is not essential. It is only memory. That is to say, thebaggage that one gradually collects through life; what was impressed onyour mind as a child; what you pick up from watching other people andfrom reading books; what people tell you you ought to do; outside ideasof every kind, mostly false. Well, I've chucked it all--or it has beenchucked for me. Such as I am now, I am the woman I was born to be! And Iwill never change. I don't care if I never find my lost baggage. Myheart is light without it. But if I do it can make no difference. Baggage is only baggage. And having once found your own heart you nevercould forget that. "

They both instinctively stood up. They did not touch each other. 

"Do you still doubt me?" she asked. 

"No. "

"You will see. I understand you better now. I shall not tease you anymore. Good-night, Martin. "

"Good-night, Clare. "

CHAPTER XI

THE MYSTERY

Next morning, when they had been on the river for about three hours, they came upon their friend Etzooah, he of the famous hair, stillhunting along shore in his canoe, but this time without the little boy. Stonor hailed him with pleasure; for of all the Kakisa Indians only thisone had acted towards them like a man and a brother. 

But the policeman was doomed to disappointment. When they overtookEtzooah they saw that the red man's open, friendly look had changed. Heturned a hard, wary eye on them, just like all the other Kakisas. Stonorguessed that he must have visited his people in the interim, and havebeen filled up with their nonsensical tales. Affecting to notice nochange, Stonor said:

"We are going to spell here. Will you eat with us?"

No Indian was ever known to refuse a meal. Etzooah landed without aword, and sat apart waiting for it to be prepared. He made no offer tohelp, but merely sat watching them out of his inscrutable, beady eyes. Stonor, hoping to find him with better dispositions after he had filledup, let him alone. 

Throughout the meal Etzooah said nothing except to answer Stonor'squestions in monosyllables. He denied having been up to Ahcunazie'svillage. Stonor was struck by the fact that he made no inquiryrespecting his friend Imbrie. Stonor himself did not like to bring upthe subject of Imbrie in Clare's hearing. Altogether baffled by theman's changed air, he finally said:

"Mary, translate this just as I give it to you. --When the policeman comedown the river he meet Etzooah. He is glad to see Etzooah. He say, hereis a good man. Etzooah give the policeman good talk. They part friends. But when the policeman come back up the river Etzooah is changed. He isnot glad to see the policeman. He gives him black looks. Why is that?Has anyone spoken evil of the policeman to Etzooah? He is ready toanswer. He asks this in friendship. "

But it was all wasted on the Indian. He shrugged, and said with bland, unrelenting gaze: "Etzooah not changed. Etzooah glad to see thepoliceman come back. "

When they had finished eating, Clare, guessing that Stonor could talkmore freely if she were out of hearing, strolled away to a littledistance and sat down to do some mending. 

Stonor said to Etzooah through Mary: "I have bad news for you. "

The Indian said: "You not find White Medicine Man?"

"He is dead. "

Etzooah's jaw dropped. He stared at Stonor queerly. "What for you tellme that?" he demanded. 

The style of the question nonplussed Stonor for the moment. "Why do Itell you? You said you were his friend. "

Etzooah veiled his eyes. "So--he dead, " he said stolidly. "I sorry forthat. "

Now it was perfectly clear to Stonor that while the man's firstexclamation had been honest and involuntary, his later words werecalculated. There was no trace of sorrow in his tones. It was all verypuzzling. 

"I think he must have been crazy, " Stonor went on. "He shoved off in hiscanoe, and let the current carry him down. Then he shot himself. "

Etzooah still studied Stonor like a man searching for ulterior motives. Clearly he did not believe what he was being told. "Why you think that?The falls never tell. "

"His body didn't go over the falls. It caught on a log-jam in therapids. "

"I know that log-jam. How you know his body there?"

"I brought it ashore. Mary helped me. "

Etzooah smiled in a superior way. 

Stonor, exasperated, turned to Mary. "Make it clear to him that I amtelling the truth if it takes half-an-hour. " He turned away and filledhis pipe. 

Mary presumably found the means of convincing the doubter. Etzooah losthis mask. His mouth dropped open; he stared at Stonor with wild eyes; ayellowish tint crept into the ruddy copper of his skin. This agitationwas wholly disproportionate to what Mary was telling him. Stonorwondered afresh. Etzooah stammered out a question. 

Mary said in her impassive way: "Etzooah say how we know that was theWhite Medicine Man's body?"

"Was there any other man there?" said Stonor. 

When this was repeated to the Indian he clapped his hands to his head. "Non! Non!" he muttered. 

Stonor indicated Clare. "She said it was Imbrie's body. She was hiswife. "

Etzooah stared stupidly at Clare. 

Suddenly he started to rise. 

Mary said: "He say he got go now. "

Stonor laid a heavy hand on the Indian's shoulder. "Sit down! Not untilthis matter is explained. Perhaps the man did not kill himself. Perhapshe was murdered. "

Etzooah seemed beside himself with terror. 

"Ask him what he's afraid of?"

"He say he sick in his mind because his friend is dead. "

"Nonsense! This is not grief, but terror. Tell him I want the truth now. I asked as a friend at first: now I ask in the name of the law. "

Etzooah suddenly rolled away on the ground out of Stonor's reach. Then, springing to his feet with incredible swiftness, he cut for the water'sedge. But Mary stuck out her leg in his path and he came to earth with athud. Stonor secured him. Clare from where she sat looked up withstartled eyes. 

"For the last time I ask you what you know about this matter, " saidStonor sternly. "If you refuse to answer, I'll carry you outside and putyou in the white man's jail. "

Etzooah answered sullenly. 

"He say he know not'ing, " said Mary. 

"Get the tracking-line, and help me tie his hands and feet. "

When Etzooah saw that Stonor really meant to do what he said, hecollapsed. 

"He say he tell now, " said Mary. 

Etzooah spoke rapidly and tremblingly to Mary. Little doubt now that hewas telling the truth, thought Stonor, watching him. The effect of hiscommunication on the stolid Mary was startling in the extreme. Shestarted back, and the same look of panic terror appeared in her eyes. She was unable to speak. 

"For God's sake, what's the matter with you all?" cried Stonor. 

Mary moistened her dry lips. She faltered: "He say--he say he so scarewhen you say you find Imbrie's body five sleeps ago because--because twosleeps ago Imbrie spell wit' him beside the river. "

It was the turn of Stonor's jaw to drop, and his eyes to stare. "But--but this is nonsense!" he cried. 

Clare could no longer contain her curiosity. "What is the matter, Martin?" she asked. 

"Some red-skin mumbo-jumbo, " he answered angrily. "I'll soon get to thebottom of it. "

Lowering his voice, he said to Mary: "Have him tell me exactly whathappened two sleeps ago. "

Mary translated as Etzooah spoke. "Two sleeps ago. The sun was half-wayto the middle of the sky. I spell down river near the rapids on thepoint where the tepee-poles are. I see White Medicine Man come paddlingup. I moch surprise see him all alone because I know you gone down tosee him. I call to him. He come on shore to me. "

"What kind of a canoe?" asked Stonor. 

"Kakisa canoe. Got willow-branches in it, for cause Eembrie sit on hisknees and paddle, not like Kakisa. "

This was a convincing detail. Little beads of perspiration sprang out onStonor's brow. 

Etzooah went on: "We talk----"

"Could he speak Kakisa?"

"No. We talk by signs. He know some Kakisa words. I teach him that. Isay to him Red-coat and White girl gone down river to see you. You notsee them? How is that? Eembrie laugh: say: 'I see them, but they not seeme. Red-coat want to get me I guess, so I run away. ' Eembrie say: 'Don'you tell Red-coat you see me. ' That is why I not want tell. I mean noharm. Eembrie is my friend. I not want police to get him. "

Stonor scarcely heard the last words. His world was tumbling around hisears. But Etzooah's and Mary's sly, scared glances in his face broughthim to himself. "Anything more?" he asked harshly. 

Etzooah hastened on: "Eembrie moch in a hurry. Not want spell. Say hecome away so quick got no grub but duck him shoot. I got not'ing butlittle rabbit, but I say, come to my camp, got plenty dry meat, dryfish. So we paddle up river till the sun is near gone under. Eembrie nottalk much. Eembrie not want come to my camp. Not want my wife, mybrot'er, my children see him. My camp little way from river. Eembriewait beside the river. I go bring him dry meat, dry fish, matches and ahatchet. Eembrie go up river. That is all. "

The story had a convincing ring. So far as it went Stonor could scarcelydoubt it, though there was much else that needed to be explained. Itpricked the bubble of his brief happiness. How was he going to tellClare? He had much ado to keep his face under the Indians' curiousglances. They naturally were ascribing their terrors to him. This ideacaused him to smile grimly. 

"What kind of a gun did Imbrie have?" he asked. 

Etzooah replied through Mary that he had not seen Imbrie's gun, that itwas probably covered by his blankets. 

Stonor seemed to be pondering deeply on what he had heard. As a matterof fact, conscious only of the hurt he had received, he was incapable ofconsecutive thought. The damnable question reiterated itself. "How am Igoing to tell Clare?" Even now she was waiting with her eyes upon himfor some word. He dared not look at her. 

He was roused by hearing Etzooah and Mary talking together in scaredvoices. 

"What does Etzooah say?" he demanded. 

Mary faltered: "He say Eembrie got ver' strong medicine. Him not staydead. "

"That is nonsense. You saw the body. Could a man without a face come tolife?"

She asked Etzooah timidly if Imbrie's face was all right. 

"Well, what does he say?" Stonor demanded with a scornful smile. 

"He say Eembrie's face smooth lak a baby's, " Mary replied with downcasteyes. 

"If Etzooah's story is true it was another man's body that we buried, "said Stonor dejectedly. 

He saw by the dogged expression on both red faces that they would nothave this. They insisted on the supernatural explanation. In a way theyloved the mystery that scared them half out of their wits. 

"What man's body was that?" asked Etzooah, challengingly. 

And Stonor could not answer. Etzooah insisted that no other man had gonedown the river, certainly no white man. Stonor knew from the conditionof the portage trail that no one had come up from below that season. There remained the possibility that Imbrie had brought in a companionwith him, but everything in his shack had been designed for a singleoccupant; moreover the diary gave the lie to this supposition. Etzooahsaid that he had been to Imbrie's shack the previous fall, and there wasno other man there then. There were moments when the bewilderedpoliceman was almost forced to fall back on the supernaturalexplanation. 

It would never do for him, though, to betray bewilderment; not only thetwo Indians, but Clare, looked to him for guidance. He must not think ofthe wreck of his own hopes, but only of what must be done next. He rosestiffly, and gave Mary the word to pack up. At any rate his duty wasclear. The fleeing Imbrie held the key to the mystery, and he must becaptured--Imbrie, Clare's husband, and now a possible murderer!

"Martin, tell me what's the matter, " Clare said again, as he held thedug-out for her to get in. 

"I'll tell you as soon as I get rid of this Indian, " he said, with aseasy an air as he could muster. 

He ordered Etzooah to take him to his camp, as he wished to search it, and to question his family. The Indian stolidly prepared to obey. 

It was at no great distance up-stream. It consisted of three tepeeshidden from the river, a Kakisa custom dating from the days when theyhad warlike enemies. The tepees were occupied by Etzooah's immediatefamily, and the households respectively of his brother and hisbrother-in-law. 

The search and the examination revealed but one significant fact, andthat corroborated Etzooah's story. Two days before he had undoubtedlycome into camp and had taken meat and fish from their slender store. Exerting the prerogative of the head of the family, he had declined totell them what he wanted it for, and the women recited the fact toStonor as a grievance. It was a vastly relieved Etzooah that Stonor leftamong his relatives. The fear of being carried off among the white menremained with him until he saw the policeman out of sight. Stonor hadwarned him to say nothing of what had happened down-river. 

Stonor rejoined Clare and Mary, and they continued up-stream. Stonor hadnow to tell Clare what he had learned. She was waiting for it. In heranxious face there was only solicitude for him, no suspicion that theaffair concerned herself. He had wished to wait until night, but he sawthat he could not travel all day in silence with her. No use beatingabout the bush either; she was an intelligent being and worthy ofhearing the truth. 

"Clare, " he began, avoiding her eyes, "you know I told you how I foundyour husband's body in the river, but I did not tell you--I merelywished to spare you something horrible--that it was much mutilated bybeing thrown against the rocks, especially the face. "

She paled. "How did you know then--how did we know that it was he?" sheasked, with a catch in her breath. 

"You appeared to recognize it. You cried out his name before youfainted. I thought there must be certain marks known to you. "

"Well?"

"It appears we were mistaken. It must have been the body of another man. According to the story the Indian has just told, Imbrie went up theriver two days ago. The story is undoubtedly true. There were details hecould not have invented. "

There was a silence. When he dared look at her, he saw with relief thatshe was not so greatly affected as he had feared. She was still thinkingof him, Stonor. 

"Martin, " she murmured, deprecatingly, "there's no use pretending. Idon't seem to feel it much except through you. You are so distressed. For myself it all seems--so unreal. "

He nodded. "That's natural. "

She continued to study his face. "Martin, there's worse behind?" shesaid suddenly. 

He looked away. 

"You suspect that this man . . . My husband . . . Whom I do not know . . . That other man . . . Murder, perhaps?"

He nodded. 

She covered her face with her hands. But only for a moment. When theycame down she could still smile at him. 

"Martin, do not look so, or I shall hate myself for having brought allthis on you. "

"That's silly, " he said gruffly. 

She did not misunderstand the gruffness. "Do not torment yourself so. It's a horrible situation, unspeakably horrible. But it's none of ourmaking. We can face it. I can, if I am sure you will always--be myfriend--even though we are parted. "

He raised his head. After all she was the comforter. "You make meashamed, " he said. "Of course we can face it!"

"Perhaps I can help you. I must try to remember now. We must work at itlike a problem that does not concern us especially. "

"Have you the diary?" he asked suddenly. "That's essential now. "

"Did I have it?"

"In the side pocket of your coat. "

"It's not there now. It's not among my things. I haven't seen itsince--I came to myself. "

He concealed his disappointment. "Oh, well, if it was left in the shackit will be safe there. I'm sure no Indian would go within fifty miles ofthe spot now. "

"Have you any idea who the dead man could have been?"

"Not the slightest. It's a black mystery. "

CHAPTER XII

IMBRIE

Stonor went ashore at Ahcunazie's village, searched every tepee, andquestioned the inhabitants down to the very children. The result wasnil. The Indians one and all denied that Imbrie had come back up theriver. Stonor was convinced that they were lying. He said nothing ofwhat had happened down at the falls, though the young Kakisa, Ahteeah, displayed no little curiosity on his own account. 

They went on, making the best time they could against the current. Clarewielded a third paddle now. The river was no less beautiful; the brownflood moved with the same grace between the dark pines; but they hadchanged. They scarcely noticed it. When they talked it was to discussthe problem that faced them in businesslike voices. Like the Kakisasthey searched the shores now, but they were looking for two-legged game. What other Indians they met on the river likewise denied having seenImbrie. 

Stonor had in mind the fact that the devoted Kakisas could hide Imbriein any one of a thousand places along the shores. It was impossible forhim to make a thorough search single-handed, nor did he feel justifiedin remaining on the river with Clare. His plan was to return to FortEnterprise as quickly as possible, making the best search he could bythe way, and, after obtaining assistance, to return. In the end, unlesshe got out, the river would be like a trap for Imbrie. It was quitelikely that he understood this, and was even now struggling to get awayas far as possible. 

On the morning of the tenth day after leaving Imbrie's shack theyarrived at the Horse Track, and Ahchoogah's village. Their coming washailed with the same noisy excitement, in which there was no trace of awelcome. Stonor instantly sought out the head man, and abruptly demandedto know when Imbrie had returned, and where he had gone. Ahchoogah, withthe most perfect air of surprise, denied all knowledge of the WhiteMedicine Man, and in his turn sought to question Stonor as to what hadhappened. It was possible, of course, that Ahchoogah's innocence wasreal, but he had the air of an accomplished liar. He could not quiteconceal the satisfaction he took in his own fine acting. 

Stonor posted Clare at the door of the shack, whence she could overlookthe entire village, with instructions to raise an alarm if she sawanybody trying to escape. Meanwhile, with Mary, he made his usual searchamong the tepees, questioning all the people. Nothing resulted fromthis, but on his rounds he was greatly elated to discover among thecanoes lying in the little river the one with the peculiar notches cutin the bow-thwart. So he was still on his man's track! He said nothingto any one of his find. 

He set himself to puzzle out in which direction Imbrie would likely nexthave turned. Certainly not to Fort Enterprise; that would be stickinghis head in the lion's mouth. It was possible Ahchoogah might haveconcealed him in the surrounding bush, but Stonor doubted that, for theyknew that the policeman must soon be back, and their instinct would beto get the man safely out of his way. There remained the third Kakisavillage at Swan Lake, seventy miles up the river, but in that case, whyshould he not have gone on in the canoe? However, Stonor learned fromMary that it was customary for the Kakisas to ride to Swan Lake. Whileit was three days' paddle up-stream it could be ridden in a day. Infact, everything pointed to Swan Lake. If Imbrie was trying to get outof the country altogether the upper Swan provided the only route in thisdirection. Stonor decided to take the time to pay a little surprisevisit to the village there. 

Stonor announced at large that he was returning to Fort Enterprise thatsame day. Ahchoogah's anxiety to speed his departure further assured himthat he was on the right track. Collecting their horses and packing up, they were ready for the trail about five that afternoon. The Indianswere more cordial in bidding them farewell than they had been inwelcoming them. There was a suspicious note of "good riddance" in it. 

After an hour's riding they came to the first good grass, a charminglittle "prairie" beside the stream that Clare had christened Meander. Stonor dismounted, and the two women, reining up, looked at him insurprise, for they had eaten just before leaving the Indian village, andthe horses were quite fresh, of course. 

"Would you and Mary be afraid to stay here all night without me?" heasked Clare. 

"Not if it is necessary, " she answered promptly. "That is, if you arenot going into danger, " she added. 

He laughed. "Danger! Not the slightest! I think I know where Imbrie is. I'm going after him. "

Clare's eyes widened. "I thought you had given him up for the present. "

He shook his head. "I couldn't tell you back there, but I found hiscanoe among the others. "

"Where are you going?"

"To the Kakisa village at Swan Lake. "

He saw Mary's expression change slightly, and took encouragementtherefrom. Mary, he knew, divided between her loyalty to Clare and herallegiance to her own people, was in a difficult position. Stonor wasvery sure, though, that he could depend on her to stand by Clare. 

"Haven't you come far out of your way?" Clare asked. 

"Not so far as you might think. We've been travelling south the last fewmiles. By crossing the Meander here and heading east through the bushI'll hit the Swan River in four miles or so. I'll be out of the bushlong before dark. I've heard there's a short-cut trail somewhere, if Ionly knew where to find it. "

He said this purposely within Mary's hearing. She spoke up: "Other sidethis little prairie where the ford is. There the trail begins. "

Stonor was not a little touched by this. "Good for you, Mary!" he saidsimply. "I shan't forget it. You've saved me a struggle through thebush. "

Mary only looked inscrutable. One had to take her feelings for granted. 

"When will you be back?" Clare asked. 

"By land it's about ninety miles' round trip. As I must ride the samehorse the whole way, say three or four to-morrow afternoon. I won't takeMiles Aroon, he's too valuable to risk. I'll ride the bay. If anythingshould delay me Tole Grampierre is due to arrive from the post day afterto-morrow. "

They made camp beside the ford that Mary pointed out. Clare waved Stonorout of sight with a smile. His mind was at ease about her, for he knewof no dangers that could threaten her there, if her fears created none. 

The side trail was little-used and rough, and he was forced to proceedat a slow walk: the roughest trail, however, is infinitely better thanthe untrodden bush. This part of the country had been burned over yearsbefore, and the timber was poplar and fairly open. Long before dark hecame into the main trail between the two Indian villages. This waswell-travelled and hard, and he needed to take no further thought aboutpicking his way; the horse attended to that. For the most part the goingwas so good he had to hold his beast in, to keep him from tiring tooquickly. He saw the river only at intervals on his right hand in itswide sweeps back and forth through its shallow valley. 

He spelled for his supper, and darkness came on. Stonor loved travellingat night, and the unknown trail added a zest to this ride. The nightworld was as quiet as a room. Where one can see less one feels more. Thescents of night hung heavy on the still air; the pungency of poplar, themellowness of balsam, the bland smell of river-water that makes the skintingle with desire to bathe, the delicate acidity of grass that causedhis horse to whicker. The trail alternated pretty regularly betweenwooded ridges, where the stones caused him to slacken his pace, and longtraverses of the turfy river-bottoms, where he could give his horse hishead. Twice during the night he picketed his horse in the grass, andtook a short nap himself. At dawn, from the last ridge, he saw the paleexpanse of Swan Lake stretching to the horizon, and at sun-up he rodeamong the tepees of the Kakisa village. 

It was built on the edge of the firm ground bordering the lake, thoughthe lake itself was still half a mile distant across a wet meadow. SwanLake was not a true lake, but merely a widening of the river where itfilled a depression among its low hills. With its flat, reedy shores ithad more the characteristics of a prairie slough. As in the lastvillage, the tepees were raised in a double row alongside a small streamwhich made its way across the meadow to the lake. In the middle of theirvillage the stream rippled over shallows, and here they had placedstepping-stones for their convenience in crossing. Below it was sluggishand deep, and here they kept their canoes. These Kakisas used bothdug-outs, for the lake, and bark-canoes for the river. The main body ofthe lake stretched to the west and south: off to Stonor's right itgradually narrowed down to the ordinary dimensions of the river. 

When Stonor reined up alongside the little stream not a soul wasstirring outside the tepees. He had at least succeeded in taking them bysurprise. The first man who stuck his head out, aroused by the dogs, was, to his astonishment, white. But when Stonor got a good look at himhe could scarcely credit his eyes. It was none other than Hooliam, thehandsome young blackguard he had deported from Carcajou Point two monthsbefore. Seeing the policeman, Hooliam hastily made to withdraw his head, but Stonor ordered him out in no uncertain terms. He obeyed with hisinimitable insolent grin. 

Stonor dismounted, letting his reins hang. The well-trained horse stoodwhere he left him. "What are you doing here?" the policeman demanded. 

"Just travelling, " drawled Hooliam. "Any objection?"

"I'll take up your case later. First I want the white man Ernest Imbrie. Which tepee is he in?"

Hooliam stared, and a peculiar grin wreathed itself around his lips. "I've seen no white man here, " he said. "Except myself. They call me awhite man. " He spoke English without a trace of the red man's clippedidiom. 

Stonor's glance of scorn was significant. It meant: "What are you doingin the tepees, then?"

But the other was quite unabashed. "I'll get Myengeen for you, " he said, turning to go. 

He seemed a bit too eager. Stonor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You stay where you are. "

Meanwhile the little Kakisas had begun to appear from the tepees, themen hanging back bashfully, the women and children peering from underflaps and under the edges of the tepees, with scared eyes. 

"I want Myengeen, " said Stonor to the nearest man. 

All heads turned to a figure crossing the stream. Stonor waited for him, keeping an eye on Hooliam meanwhile. The individual who approached was alittle larger than the average of the Kakisas; well-favoured, and with agreat shock of blue-black hair hanging to his neck. He was quitesprucely dressed in store clothes. His close-set eyes and extremelyshort upper lip gave him a perpetual sneer. He had the walled look of abold child caught in mischief. He came up to Stonor and offered his handwith a defiant air, saying: "How!"

Stonor shook hands with him, affecting not to notice the signs oftruculence. The other Indians, encouraged by the presence of their headman, drew closer. 

"I want Ernest Imbrie, " Stonor said sternly. "Where is he?"

Myengeen could speak no English, but the spoken name and the tone weresignificant enough. He fell back a step, and scowled at Stonor as if hesuspected him of a desire to make fun of him. Then his eyes wentinvoluntarily to Hooliam. Stonor, following his glance, was struck bythe odd, self-conscious leer on Hooliam's comely face. Suddenly itflashed on him that this was his man. His face went blank withastonishment. The supposed Hooliam laughed outright. 

"Is _this_ Imbrie??" cried Stonor. 

Myengeen nodded sullenly. 

Hooliam said something in Kakisa that caused the surrounding Indians togrin covertly. 

And in truth there was a comic aspect to Stonor's dismay. His brain waswhirling. This hardy young villain married to the exquisite Clare! Thisthe saviour of the Indians! This the high-minded gentleman whose diaryClare had read to him! It was inexplicable. Yet Stonor suddenlyremembered Hooliam's curiosity concerning the reports that were incirculation about the White Medicine Man; this was understandable now. But how could Clare have so stooped----? Well, it must be left to timeto unravel. 

He pulled himself together. "So you're Imbrie, " he said grimly. 

"That was my dad's name, " was the impudent reply. 

"I'll have to trouble you to take a journey with me. "

"What's the charge?"

"Oh, we merely want to look into your doings up here. "

"You have no right to arrest me without some evidence of wrong-doing. "

"Well, I'm going to arrest you anyhow, and take my chances of provingsomething on you. "

Hooliam scowled and pulled at his lip. 

Stonor thought: "You'd give a lot to know how much I know, my man!"

Myengeen addressed Imbrie. Stonor watched him narrowly. He could onlyunderstand one word, the man's name, "Eembrie, " but Myengeen's wholeattitude to the other was significant. There was respect in it;admiration, not unmixed with awe. Stonor wondered afresh. Clearly therecould be no doubt this was their White Medicine Man. 

Imbrie said to Stonor, with his cynical laugh: "I suppose you want toknow what he's saying. I don't understand it all. I'm just learningtheir lingo. But he's offering me the homage of the tribe or somethinglike that. "

"It's more than you deserve, " thought Stonor. Aloud he said: "Imbrie, ifyou do what I tell you you can ride as you are. But if you want to maketrouble I'll have to tie you up. So take your choice. "

"Oh, I don't hanker after any hempen bracelets, " said Imbrie. "What doyou want of me?"

"First of all order somebody to bring out all your gear and spread it onthe ground. "

"That's not much, " said Imbrie. By word and by sign he communicated theorder to one of the Kakisas. It seemed to Stonor that something wasreserved. 

The Indian disappeared in the tepee and presently returned with Imbrie's"bed, " that is to say, a pair of heavy blankets and a small, grimypillow, and Imbrie's hatchet. 

"That's all I brought, " said Imbrie, "except a little dried moose-meat, and that's eaten up. "

"I want your gun, " said Stonor. 

"Didn't bring any. "

"Then what are you wearing a cartridge-belt for?" Imbrie shruggedairily. 

"Produce your gun, or I'll tie you up, and search for it myself. "

Imbrie spoke, and the Kakisa disappeared again, returning with arevolver, which he handed to Stonor. Stonor was careful not to betraythe grim satisfaction he experienced at the sight of it. It was ofthirty-eight calibre, the same as the bullet that reposed in his pocket. While not conclusive, perhaps, this was strong evidence. Since he hadseen this man he had lost his dread of bringing the crime home to him. He wished to convict him now. He dropped the revolver in his sidepocket, and held out his hand for the ammunition-belt, which was handedover. 

"Now get a horse, " he said. 

Myengeen objected with violent shakes of the head. 

"He says he's got no horses to hand over, " said Imbrie, grinning. 

"Make him understand that I will give a receipt for the horse. If it isnot returned the company will pay in trade. "

"No spare horses, " he says. 

"Let him give you the horse you came on. "

"I walked. "

Stonor did not believe this for a moment. "Very well then, you can walkback, " he said coolly. 

Imbrie thought better of this. He entered into a colloquy with Myengeenwhich eventually resulted in a horse being caught and led up andsaddled. Stonor gave a receipt for it as promised. Myengeen handled thebit of paper fearfully. 

"Now mount!" said Stonor. 

"Aren't you going to let me have my breakfast?"

"We'll spell beside the trail. "

Myengeen became visibly excited and began to harangue Imbrie in a fierystyle, with sidelong looks at the policeman. Stonor out of the tail ofhis eye saw answering scowls gather on the faces of the other Indians asthey listened. Myengeen's gestures were significant; with a sweep of hisarm he called attention to the number of his followers, and then pointedto Stonor, who was but one. 

Imbrie said with a sneering laugh: "He's telling me that I have only tosay the word, and you'll never take me. "

"Rubbish!" said Stonor coolly. "Men do not oppose the police. "

They could not understand the words, but the tone intimidated them. Their eyes bolted as he looked sternly from man to man. He saw that lookof angry pain come into their eyes that he knew in their race. It wasnot that they did not wish to defy him, but they dared not, and theyknew they dared not. 

"Oh, I'm helping you out, old man, " said Imbrie, with airy impudence. "I'm telling them I don't mind going with you, because you've gotnothing in the world against me. I'm going to give them some good advicenow. Listen. "

He did indeed address Myengeen earnestly at some length. Stonor couldnot guess what he was saying, for he used no gestures. He saw that itwas true Imbrie was unpractised in their tongue, for he spoke withdifficulty, hesitating for words, and they had to pay close attention toget his meaning. Myengeen listened with a face as inscrutable asImbrie's own. At the end he nodded with an expression of approval, andbent a queer look on Stonor that the trooper was unable to fathom. 

Imbrie then tied his bed behind his saddle and swung himself on thehorse. Stonor signed to him to start first, and they trotted out fromamong the tepees. Stonor sat stiffly with the butt of his gun on histhigh, and disdained to look around. The instant they got in motion awailing sound swept from tepee to tepee. Stonor wondered greatly at thehold this fellow had obtained over the simple people; even the Kakisas, it seemed to him, should have been able to see that he was no good. 

They trotted smartly over the first ridge and out of sight. A long, grassy bottom followed. When they had put what Stonor considered a safedistance between them and the village, he called a halt. Picketing thehorses, and building a fire, he set about preparing their simple meal. Imbrie seemed willing enough to do his share of unpacking, fetching woodand water, etc. ; indeed in his cynical way he was almost good-natured. 

As they sat over their meal he said tauntingly: "Why are you afraid totell me what the charge is against me?"

Stonor had no intention of letting out what he knew. He figured thatImbrie's mind was probably perfectly at ease regarding themurder--always supposing there had been a murder--because he could notpossibly guess that the body had not been carried over the falls. Heretorted: "If your conscience is easy, what do you care what charge ismade?"

"Naturally I want to know why I'm obliged to upset all my plans to makethis journey. "

"There is no charge yet. "

"But when you bring me in you'll have to make some kind of a charge. "

"Oh, I suppose they'll merely ask you to explain your business up here. "

"And if I stand on my rights as a free man, and refuse to tell mybusiness?"

Stonor shrugged. "That's not up to me. I shan't be the one to questionyou. "

"Is it a crime to live alone?"

"No. But why did you run away when I came to see you?"

"I didn't run away. "

"Don't know what you call it, then. When you saw us coming you hid in atree. "

"Who was us?" asked Imbrie, with a leer. 

Stonor could not bring himself to name Clare's name to the man. "I thinkyou know, " he said quietly. "When night came you fell or jumped out ofthe tree, and took to the bush. Later you attempted to sneak into thehouse----"

"Well, it was my own house, wasn't it?"

"Sure, that's what puzzles me. What were you afraid of? Then when theIndian woman screamed you lit out for the beach, and beat it up theriver. "

"Well, was that a crime?"

"No, only a suspicious circumstance. Frankly, now, don't you consideryourself a suspicious character?"

"Oh, it's your business to suspect everybody!"

"Well, when I first met you, why did you lie to me concerning youridentity?"

"I didn't lie. I just kept the truth to myself. "

"You told me your name was Hooliam. "

"Can't a man have more than one baptismal name?"

"Is it Ernest William, or William Ernest?" asked Stonor mockingly. 

"I shan't tell you. I shan't tell you anything about myself until Iknow what I'm wanted for. I suppose that's my right, isn't it?"

"Sure!" said Stonor good-naturedly. "Anything you like. Travellers mustbe saying something to each other. "

But Imbrie was not content to let the matter drop. There was a littlegnawing anxiety somewhere. He burst out: "And have I got to put myselfto the trouble of taking this long journey, just because you're toothick-witted to understand my perfectly natural motives?"

"Put it that way if you like, " said Stonor, grinning. "The police _are_thick sometimes in dealing with clever fellows like you. "

"Well, I'll tell you. I came up to this country because I choose to livealone. My reasons are my own affair. I'm not wanted by the police ofthis or any other country. But I don't choose to be spied on andfollowed up. That's why I got out of the way. "

"Did you live alone down there?" asked Stonor casually. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there was that lady who left Carcajou Point with you. "

"Oh, that was just a temporary affair, " said Imbrie, with a leer. 

Stonor, thinking of Clare, could have struck him for it. With an efforthe swallowed his rage. "Did you never have any visitors?" he askedcoolly. 

Imbrie favoured him with a lightning glance. "What put that idea intoyour head?"

Stonor lied in the good cause. "One of the Indians said you had avisitor. "

"When?"

"Just a few days before we went down. "

"What kind of visitor?"

"A man much like yourself, " said Stonor. 

Imbrie lost his grin for the moment. "It's a lie, " he said thickly. 

"Oh, well, it's no crime to have a visitor, " said Stonor smoothly. 

Imbrie saw his mistake, and quickly commanded himself. He laughedeasily. "Just my way, " he said. "I'm cracked on the subject of livingalone. "

They had to spell at short intervals during the day, for Stonor's horsewas growing very tired. Whenever they halted they began to fence withwords in much the same way, each trying to discover the other's weakjoint without letting down his own guard. It seemed to Stonor that, under his cynical insolence, his prisoner was growing ever more anxious. 

On one occasion Imbrie said with a careless air: "Did you see the bigfalls when you were down the river?"

"No, " said Stonor instantly. 

"Very fine sight. "

It occurred to Stonor that a certain amount of curiosity on his partwould appear natural. "What are they like?"

Imbrie looked at him through slightly narrowed lids. "Big horse-shoeeffect. The water falls all around in a sort of half-circle, and thereare tremendous rocks below. The water falls on the rocks. "

This description sounded purposely misleading. The place, of course, wasnot like that at all. Stonor thought: "What does he tell me that for?Living there all that time, it isn't possible he hasn't seen the falls. In his diary he mentioned going there. " Suddenly the explanation came tohim. "I know! He's trying to tempt me to call him a liar, and then he'llknow I've been there. "

"Must be great!" he said offhand. 

During the last spell Imbrie slept part of the time. Stonor dared notclose his eyes, though he needed sleep sorely. He sat smoking andwatching Imbrie, trying to speculate on what lay behind that smooth, comely mask. 

"It's like a book I read once, " he thought. "A man had two natures inhim, one good, one bad. At one time the good nature would have the upperhand; at another time the bad. He was like two entirely differentpeople. A case of double personality, they called it. It must besomething like that with this man. Clare married the good man in him, and the bad turned up later. No doubt that was why she left him. Thenthe good man reappeared, and she felt she had done him a wrong. Itexplains everything. "

But a theory may work too perfectly to fit the haphazard facts of life. There was still the dead man to be explained. And a theory, howeverperfect, did not bring him any nearer to solving the personal problemsconcerned. What was one to do with a man who was at once sane andirresponsible? He could give up Clare like a man, he told himself, if itwere necessary to her happiness; but to give her up to this----! Hejumped up and shook himself with the gesture that was becoming habitual. He could not allow himself to dwell on that subject; frenzy lay thatway. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE RESCUE

They had struck off from the main trail between the two Indian villages, and were within a mile or two of Stonor's camp. Their pace was slow, forthe going was bad, and Stonor's horse was utterly jaded. The trooper'sface was set in grim lines. He was thinking of the scene that waitedahead. 

Imbrie, too, had the grace to look anxious and downcast. He had beenexasperatingly chipper all the way, until it had occurred to him justnow to ask Stonor what he had done with the women. Upon learning thatthey were waiting just ahead, his feathers drooped. A whine crept intohis voice, and, without saying anything definite, he began to hedge inan odd way. 

"The truth about this case hasn't come out yet, " he said. 

"I never thought it had, " said Stonor. 

"Well, a man under arrest has the right to lie to protect his interests, at least until he has the opportunity to consult a lawyer. "

"Sure, and an officer has the right to draw his own inferences from thelies. "

"Hell! I don't care what you think. As you said, you're not going to tryme. "

"When did you lie to me?"

"Well, if I thought it necessary to lie to you awhile ago, I'm not goingto tell the truth now. "

"All right. Why bring the matter up?"

"I just wanted to warn you not to jump to conclusions. "

The trooper was dead tired, and dead sick of gazing at the smooth, evilface of his companion. "Oh, go to hell!" he said. "You talk too much!"

Imbrie subsided into a sullen silence. 

Stonor thought: "For some reason he's afraid of meeting Clare. I supposethat's natural enough when he's like this. He must know what's thematter with him. Probably he hates everything connected with his betterside. Well, if he doesn't want Clare it may simplify matters. " Thus hewas still making his theory work. 

At last they came out from among the trees, and the little grassy valleyof the Meander lay below them. There were the three little tents pitchedon the other side of the stream, and the four horses quietly grazing inthe bottom. Mary was baking bread at the fire. It was a picture ofpeace, and Stonor's first anxiety for their safety was relieved. 

He had not the heart to hail them; they would see soon enough. Andalmost immediately Mary did look up and see the two horsemen. She spokeover her shoulder, and Clare quickly appeared from her tent. The twowomen awaited them motionless. 

Imbrie still rode ahead, hunched in his saddle. He glanced over hisshoulder, and Stonor saw that a sickly yellow tint had crept under hisskin. He looked at Stonor's failing horse. Suddenly he clapped heels tohis own beast, and, jerking the animal's head round, circled Stonor andattempted to regain the trail behind him. He evidently counted on thefact that the policeman would be unable to follow. 

To urge his spent beast to a run would only have been to provoke a fall. Stonor made no attempt to follow. Pulling his horse round, he whipped uphis gun and fired into the air. It was sufficient. Imbrie pulled up. Stonor possessed himself of the other's bridle-rein and turned him roundagain. They said nothing to each other. 

They splashed across the shallow ford. On the other side Stonor curtlybade Imbrie to dismount and ungirth. He did likewise. Clare and Maryawaited their coming at a few paces' distance. Clare's eyes were fixedon Imbrie with a painful intensity. Curiosity and apprehension wereblended in her gaze. Imbrie avoided looking at her as long as possible. 

They turned out the weary beasts to the grass, and Stonor marched hisprisoner up to Clare--there was no use trying to hedge with what had tobe gone through. 

"Here is Imbrie, " he said laconically. 

The man moistened his dry lips, and mustered a kind of bravado. "Hello, Clare!" he said flippantly. 

"Do you recognize him?" asked Stonor--dreading her answer. 

"No--I don't know--perhaps, " she stammered. "I feel that I have seen himbefore somewhere. "

Imbrie's face underwent an extraordinary change. He stared at Claredumbfounded. 

"You're sure, " murmured Clare uncertainly to Stonor. 

"Oh, yes, this is the Kakisas' White Medicine Man. "

Imbrie turned sharply to Stonor. "What's the matter with her?" hedemanded. 

"She's temporarily lost her memory. "

"Lost her memory!" echoed Imbrie incredulously. He stared at Clare withsharp, eager eyes that transfixed her like a spear. She turned away toescape it. Imbrie drew a long breath, the ruddy colour returned to hischeeks, the old impudent grin wreathed itself about his lips once more. 

"Too bad!" he said, with a leer. "You don't recognize your hubby!"

Clare shrank back, and involuntarily flung an arm up over her face. 

Stonor saw red. "Hold your tongue!" he cried, suddenly beside himself. 

Imbrie cringed from the clenched fist. "Can't a man speak to his wife?"he snarled. 

"Speak to her with respect, or I'll smash you!"

"You daren't! You've got to treat me well. It's regulations. "

"Damn the regulations! You mind what I tell you!"

Imbrie looked from one to another with insufferable malice. "Ah! Sothat's the way the wind lies, " he drawled. 

Stonor turned on his heel and walked away, grinding his teeth in theeffort to get a grip on himself. 

Imbrie was never one to forego such an advantage. He looked from one toanother with bright, spiteful eyes. When Stonor came back he said:

"You must excuse me if I gave you a turn. To tell the truth, a manforgets how attractive his wife is. I'm sorry I had to turn up, old man. Perhaps you didn't know that she had a Mrs. To her name. She took backher maiden name, they told me. "

"I knew it very well, " said Stonor. "Since before we started to look foryou. "

"Well, if you knew it, that's your look-out, " said Imbrie. "You can'tsay I didn't do my best to keep out of your way. "

This was intolerable. Stonor suddenly bethought himself what to do. In alow voice he bade Mary bring him the tracking-line. Imbrie, who stoodstroking his chin and surveying them with the air of master of thesituation, lost countenance when he saw the rope. Stonor cut off an endof it. 

"What's that for?" demanded Imbrie. 

"Turn round and put your hands behind you, " said the policeman. 

Imbrie defiantly folded his arms. 

Stonor smiled. "If you resist my orders, " he said softly, "there is noneed for me to hold my hand. --Put your hands behind you!" he suddenlyrasped. 

Imbrie thought better to obey. Stonor bound his wrists firmly together. He then led Imbrie a hundred yards from their camp, and, making him sitin the grass, tied his ankles and invited him to meditate. 

"I'll get square with you for this, old man!" snarled Imbrie. "You hadno right to tie me up!"

"I didn't like the style of your conversation, " said Stonor coolly. 

"You're damn right, you didn't! You snivelling preacher! You snooperafter other men's wives! Oh, I've got you where I want you now! Anycharge you bring against me will look foolish when I tell them----"

"Tell them what?"

"Tell them you're after her!"

Stonor walked away and left the man. 

Clare still stood in the same place like a carven woman. She waited forhim with wide, harassed eyes. As he came to her she said simply:

"This is worse than I expected. "

"The man is not right in his head!" said Stonor. "There is somethingqueer. Don't pay any attention to him. Don't think of him. "

"But I must think of him; I can't escape it. What do you mean by notright?"

"A screw loose somewhere. What they call a case of double personality, perhaps. It is the only way to reconcile what you told me about him andwhat we see. "

Clare's glance was turned inward in the endeavour to solve the riddle ofher own blind spot. She said slowly: "I have known him somewhere; I amsure of that. But he is strange to me. He makes my blood run cold. Icannot explain it. "

"Do not brood on it, " urged Stonor. 

She transferred her thoughts to Stonor. "You look utterly worn out. Willyou sleep now?"

"Yes. We won't leave here until morning. My horse must have a goodrest. "

"You'd wait for him, but not for yourself!"

"Tole ought to be along in the morning to help pack, and to guard theprisoner. "

Before Stonor had a chance to lie down, Imbrie called him. There was apropitiatory note in his voice. 

The trooper went to him. "What do you want?" he asked sternly. 

"Say, I'm sorry I riled you, Sergeant, " said Imbrie with a grin. "I wasa bit carried off my feet by the situation. I'll be more carefulhereafter. Untie this damned rope, will you?"

Stonor slowly shook his head. "I think we're both better off with alittle distance between us. "

Imbrie repented of his honeyed tones. His lip curled back. But he madean effort to control himself. "Aren't you afraid your spotlessreputation will suffer?" he asked, sneering. 

"Not a bit!" said Stonor promptly. 

Imbrie was taken aback. "Well--can I speak to my wife for a minute?" heasked sullenly. 

Stonor observed, wincing, how he loved to bring out the word "wife. ""That's up to her, " he answered. "I'll put it to her. "

Returning to Clare, he said: "He wants to speak to you. "

She shrank involuntarily. "What should I do, Martin?"

"I see nothing to be gained by it, " said Stonor quickly. 

"But if, as you say, in a way he's sick, perhaps I ought----"

"He's not too sick to have a devil in him. Leave him alone!"

She shook her head. She was gaining in firmness. "It won't hurt me tohear what he has to say. It may throw some light on the situation. "

"I doubt it, " said Stonor. "His object is to raise as much dust aspossible. But go ahead. If he's insulting, leave him instantly. Anddon't let him know what I suspect him of. "

She went, and Stonor walked up and down in the grass in a fever untilshe returned. She was with Imbrie some little time. Stonor could notguess of what they talked. Clare's white composed face, and Imbrie'sinvariable grin, told him nothing. 

The instant she came towards him he burst out: "He didn't annoy you?"

She shook her head. "No, he seemed quite anxious to please. Heapologized for what he said before. "

Stonor said, blushing and scowling: "Perhaps you do not care to tell mewhat you----"

"Certainly!" she said, with a quick look. "Don't be silly, Martin. Itwas just what you might expect. Nothing important. He asked me dozens ofquestions as to what we did down the river. "

"You did not tell him?"

"How could I? Apparently he is greatly puzzled by my condition. He seemsnot fully to believe, or at least he pretends not to believe, that Icannot remember. He tried to work on my feelings to get you to liberatehim. And of course he was most anxious to know what he was wanted for. Itold him I could not interfere in your affairs, that's all. "

Stonor nodded. 

"Martin, " she said, with the withdrawn look that he had marked before, "I cannot remember anything, yet I am conscious of a deep resentmentagainst this man. At some time in the past he has injured me cruelly, Iam sure. --Yet I told you I had injured him, didn't I?" She passed a handacross her face. "It is very puzzling. "

"Don't worry!" he said cheerily. "It's bound to be made clear in theend. "

"You wish to do all the worrying, don't you?" she said, with a wrysmile. 

He could not meet her dear eyes. "Worry nothing!" he cried. "I only haveone idea in my mind, and that is to get some sleep!" He bustled to gethis blankets. 

They awoke him for the evening meal. After eating, he inspected hiscamp, sent Clare to bed, moved Imbrie closer, instructed Mary to keepwatch that he did not succeed in freeing himself, and went back to sleepagain. Mary was to call him at dawn, and they would take the trail atsunrise. 

In the middle of the night he was brought leaping to his feet by a cryout of the dark: a cry that was neither from wolf, coyote, norscreech-owl. Wakened from a deep sleep, his consciousness was aware onlyof something dreadful. Outside the tent Mary ran to him: her teeth werechattering with terror: she could not speak. Clare crept from her tent. Both women instinctively drew close to their protector. 

"What was it?" Clare asked, tremblingly. 

A shriek answered her; a dreadful urgent cry of agony that made thewhole night shudder. It came from a little way down the trail, from theedge of the woods perhaps, not more than a quarter of a mile away. 

"A human voice!" gasped Clare. 

"A woman's!" muttered Stonor grimly. 

Again it shattered the stillness, this time more dreadful, for theyheard words in their own tongue. "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" Then ahorrible pause, and with added urgency: "Help! Help!"

"By God! English words!" cried Stonor, astounded. 

"Go to her! Go to her!" cried Clare, urging him with her hands. 

On the other hand, Mary, falling to her knees, clung to him, fairlygibbering in the extremity of her terror. 

Stonor was suspicious, yet every instinct of manliness drew him towardsthese cries. Under that pull it was impossible to think clearly. Heshook Mary off, and started to run. He took three steps and pulledhimself up short. 

"Look at Imbrie, " he muttered. "Strange he hasn't wakened. "

It was true the prisoner still lay motionless, entirely covered with hisblanket. 

"It's a trick!" said Stonor. "There could be no English woman near here. It's a trick to draw me out of camp!"

"But none of the Kakisas could speak English, " said Clare. 

"I don't know, " muttered Stonor, in an agony of indecision. "My firstduty is here. Look at Mary. She thinks it's a trick. "

Mary was lying on the ground, muttering a Kakisa word over and over. 

"What is it?" Stonor harshly demanded. 

"Spirits!" she gasped. 

Stonor turned away, flinging his arms up. "Good God! Ghosts again!" hecried, in exasperation. 

The dreadful cries were raised again. "Help! Help! He's killing me!"

"I can't stand it!" cried Clare. "I must go myself!"

"Stay where you are!" commanded Stonor. "It is too strange a thing tohappen so close to our camp if it was not staged for our benefit!"

Just the same, it was not easy for him to hold himself. When the crieswere raised again a deep groan was forced from him:

"If I only had another man!"

"Go! Mary and I will be all right!" said Clare. 

"Don' go! Don' go!" wailed Mary from the ground. 

Stonor shouted into the darkness. "Come this way! Help is here!"

The cries were redoubled. 

Imbrie suddenly awoke, and rolled clear of his blanket. "What's that?"he cried, with an admirable assumption of surprise. "A woman's voice! Awhite woman! Why don't you go to her?"

It was a little too well done; Stonor felt partly reassured. 

Imbrie appeared to be struggling desperately in his bonds. "For God'ssake, man!" he cried. "If you won't go, cut me loose! I can't stand it!"

"I am sure now, " said Stonor, in a voice of relief. "This was what hefixed up with Myengeen this morning. I ought to have been prepared forit. Mary, help me make up the fire. A blaze will help chase thehorrors. "

"Oh, you coward!" taunted Imbrie. "If I had my hands free! This is thefamous nerve of the police!"

Stonor could afford to laugh at this. His courage was tried. 

The voice came with a fresh note of despair. "He's taking me away! He'staking me away! Oh, come! come!" Sure enough the sounds began to recede. 

But the spell was broken now. They were only conscious of relief at theprospect of an end to the grim farce. 

"Damn clever work here, " said Stonor. "She says the very things thatought to pull the hardest. "

"Where could they have got the English words?" said Clare. 

"Search me! It's another mystery to add to what's facing us. "

Meanwhile the flames were beginning to lick the twigs that Mary placedwith trembling hands. 

"If we make a big fire won't it reveal us to them?" said Clarenervously. 

"They won't shoot, " said Stonor contemptuously. "Stage business is moretheir line; conjure-tricks. "

Imbrie, seeing that the game was up, had given over trying to tauntStonor, and lay watching them with an unabashed grin. He seemed ratherproud of his scheme, though it had failed. 

"Can I smoke?" he said. 

"Mary, fill his pipe, and stick it in his mouth, " said Stonor. 

They heaped up a big fire, and at Stonor's initiative, sat around itclearly revealed in the glare. He knew his Indians. At first Claretrembled, thinking of the possible hostile eyes gazing at them frombeyond the radius of light, but Stonor's coolness was infectious. Hejoked and laughed, and, toasting slices of bacon, handed them round. 

"We can eat all we want to-night, " he said. "Tole will be along with afresh supply to-morrow. "

Imbrie lay about fifteen paces from the fire, near enough to makehimself unpleasant, if not to hear what was said. "Mighty brave man bythe fire, " he sneered. 

Stonor answered mildly. "One more remark like that, my friend, and I'llhave to retire you again from good society. "

Imbrie held his tongue thereafter. 

Clare, wishing to show Stonor that she too could set an example ofcoolness, said: "Let's sing something. "

But Stonor shook his head. "That would look as if we were trying to keepour courage up, " he said, smiling, "and of course it is up. But let Marytell us a story to pass the time. "

Mary, having reflected that it was her own people and not ghostlyvisitants that had made the hideous interruption in the night, hadregained her outward stolidity. She was not in the humour for tellingstories, though. 

"My mout' too dry, " she said. 

"Go ahead, " coaxed Stonor. "You know your own folks better than I do. You know that if we sit here by the fire, eating, talking, and laughinglike a pleasant company, it will put respect into their hearts. They'llhave no appetite for further devilry. "

"Can't tell stories, " she said. "Too late, too dark, too scare. Wordswon't come. "

"Just tell us why the rabbits have a black spot on their backs. That's ashort one. "

After a little more urging Mary began in her stolid way:

"One tam Old Man him travel in the bush. Hear ver' queer singin'. Neverhear not'ing like that before. Look all round see where it come. Wah! hesee cottontail rabbits singing and making medicine. They mak' fire. Gotplenty hot ashes. They lie down in those ashes and sing, and anotherrabbit cover them up with ashes. They not stay there ver' long for causethose ashes moch hot. 

"Old Man say: 'Little brothers, that is wonderful how you lie down inthose hot ashes without burning. Show me how to do it. '

"Rabbits say: 'Come on, Old Man. We show you how. You got sing our song, only stay in ashes little while. ' So Old Man begin to sing, and he liedown, and they cover him with ashes. Him not burn at all. 

"He say: 'That is ver' nice. You sure got ver' strong medicine. Now Iwant do it myself. You lie down, and I cover you up. '

"So rabbits all lie down in ashes, and Old Man cover them up. Then heput the whole fire over them. Only one old rabbit get out. Old Man catchher and go put her back, but she say: 'Pity me, my children soon beborn. '

"Old Man say: 'All right, I let you go, so there is plenty more rabbitsbam-bye. But I will cook these nicely and have a feast. ' And he put morewood on the fire. When those rabbits cooked nice, he cut red willow bushand lay them on to cool. Grease soak into those branches; that is whywhen you hold red willow to the fire you see grease on the bark. You cansee too, since that time, how rabbits got burnt place on their back. That is where the one that got away was singed. 

"Old Man sit down waitin' for rabbits to cool a little. His mouth is wetfor to taste them. Coyote come along limpin' ver' bad. Say: 'Pity me, Old Man, you got plenty cooked rabbits, give me one. '

"Old Man say: 'Go along! You too lazy catch your dinner, I not helpyou!'

"Coyote say: 'My leg broke. I can't catch not'ing. I starving. Just giveme half a rabbit. '

"Old Man say: 'I don't care if you die. I work hard to cook all theserabbits. I will not give away. But I tell you what we do. We run a raceto that big hill way off there. If you beat me I give you a rabbit. '

"Coyote say: 'All right. ' So they start run. Old Man run ver' fast. Coyote limp along close behind. Then coyote turn round and run back veryfast. Him not lame at all. Tak' Old Man long tam to get back. Jus'before he get there coyote swallow las' rabbit, and trot away over theprairie with his tail up. 

"That is the end. "

Stonor laughed. "That's the kind of story I like. No cut and driedmoral!"

Mary never could be got to see anything funny in the stories she told. Just what her attitude was towards them the whites could not guess. 

"Give us another about Old Man, " Stonor went on. "A longer one. Tell howOld Man made medicine. A crackerjack!"

Clare looked at him wonderingly. If he were aware of the weirdness oftheir situation no sign betrayed it. The crackling flames mountedstraight in the air, the smoke made a pillar reaching into the darkness. Fifteen paces from Stonor lay his prisoner, staring unwinkingly at himwith eyes that glittered with hatred; and from all around them in thedarkness perhaps scores of their enemies were watching. 

Mary stolidly began again:

"It was long tam ago before the white man come. The people not havehorses then. Kakisas hunt on the great prairie that touch the sky allaround. Many buffalo had been killed. The camp was full of meat. Greatsheets hung in the lodges and on the racks outside to smoke. Now themeat was all cut up and the women were working on the hides. Cure somefor robes. Scrape hair from some for leather----"

The story got no further. From across the little stream they heard amuffled thunder of hoofs in the grass. 

Stonor sprang up. "My horses!" he cried. "Stampeded, by God! Thecowardly devils!"

Imbrie laughed. 

Stonor snatched up his gun. "Back from the fire!" he cried to the women. "I'm going to shoot!"

He splashed across the ford, and, climbing the bank, dropped on hisknee in the grass. The horses swerved, and galloped off at a tangent. They were barely visible to eyes that had just left the fire. Stonorcounted seven animals, and he had but six with Imbrie's. On the sevenththere was the suggestion of a crouching figure. Stonor fired at thehorse. 

The animal collapsed with a thud. Stonor ran to where he lay twitchingin the grass. It was a strange horse to him. The rider had escaped. Buthe could not have got far. The temptation to follow was strong, butStonor, remembering his prisoner and the women who depended on him, refused to be drawn. He returned to where Clare and Mary awaited him ata little distance from the fire. Meanwhile the horses galloped away outof hearing into the bush beyond the little meadow. Imbrie was stillsecure in his bonds. Stonor kept a close watch on him. 

They had not long to wait before dawn began to weave colour in the sky. Light revealed nothing living but themselves in the little valley, oraround its rim. The horse Stonor had shot still lay where he haddropped. Stonor returned to him, taking Mary. The animal was dead, witha bullet behind its shoulder. It was a blue roan, an ugly brute with achewed ear. It had borne a saddle, but its owner had succeeded inretrieving that under cover of darkness. The man's tracks were visible, leading off towards the side trail. 

"Mary, whose horse is that?" Stonor asked. 

She shrugged and spread out her hands. As she had been living at FortEnterprise for years, and saw her own people but seldom, he had nochoice but to believe that she did not know. They returned to Clare. 

Stonor said: "I shall have to leave you for awhile. There's no help forit. I'm expecting Tole Grampierre this morning, but I can't tell forsure how fast he will travel, and in the meantime the horses may begetting further away every minute. If you are afraid to stay, I supposeyou can come with me--though I may have to tramp for miles. "

Clare kept her chin up. "I'll stay here. If you have to go far I'd onlybe a drag on you. I shan't be afraid. "

The harassed policeman gave her a grateful glance. "I'll leave you myrevolver. There's no use arming Mary, because I couldn't ask her to fireon her own people. I do not think there is the slightest danger of yourbeing attacked. If the Indians, seeing me go, come around, pay noattention to them. Show no fear and you are safe. If they want Imbrielet them take him. I'll get him later. It only means a little delay. Hecannot escape me up here. "

"You must eat before you start, " said Clare anxiously. 

"I'll take cold food. Can't wait for hot bread. "

As Stonor started off Imbrie cried mockingly: "So long, Redbreast!"Stonor doubted very much if he would find him on his return. But therewas no help for it. One has to make the best of a bad situation. 

After traversing the little meadow the stampeded horses had taken to thetrail in the direction of Fort Enterprise. Stonor took heart, hopingthat Tole might meet them and drive them back. But, reliable as Tolewas, of course he could not count on him to the hour; nor had he anyassurance that the horses would stay in the trail. He kept on. 

The horses' tracks made clear reading. For several miles Stonor followedthrough the bush at a dog-trot. Then he came to another little openglade and saw that they had stopped to feed. He gained on them here. Ashort distance further he suddenly came upon his bay in the trail, thehorse that had carried him to Swan Lake and back. As he had expected, she was hopelessly foundered, a pitiable sight. He regretfully put abullet through her brain. 

Near here the remaining horses had swerved from the trail and turnednorthward, looking for water perhaps. Stonor pinned a note to a tree, briefly telling Tole what had happened, and bidding him hasten forwardwith all speed. 

Stonor followed the hoof-prints then through the trackless bush, painfully slow going over the stones and the fallen trunks, with many apitfall concealed under the smooth moss. After an hour of this hefinally came upon them all five standing dejectedly about in a narrowopening, as if ashamed of their escapade and perfectly willing to becaught. 

Mounting Miles Aroon, he drove the others before him. To avoid the riskof breaking their legs he had to let them make their own slow pace overthe down timber, and it was a sore trial to his patience. He had alreadybeen gone two hours. When finally he struck the trail again he saw thathis note to Tole was still where he had left it. He let it stay, on thechance of its bringing him on a little quicker. He put his horses to thetrail at a smart pace. They all clattered through the bush, makingdizzying turns around the tree-trunks. 

As he approached the little meadow by the Meander his heart rose slowlyin his throat. He had been more anxious for their safety than he wouldlet himself believe. As he came to the edge of the trees his eyes wereready to leap to the spot where he had left his charges. A shock awaitedthem. Of the three little tents there was but one remaining, and no signof life around it. He furiously urged his horse to the place. 

Mary and Clare were gone with Imbrie. The camp site was trampled byscores of hoofs. The Indians had taken nothing, however, but the twolittle tents and the personal belongings of the women--an oddscrupulousness in the face of the greater offence. All the tracks madeoff across the meadow towards the side trail back to the Swan. 

CHAPTER XIV

PURSUIT

Stonor sat down on a grub-box, and, gripping his bursting head betweenhis hands, tried to think. His throbbing blood urged him to gallopinstantly in pursuit. They could not have more than two hours' start ofhim, and Miles Aroon was better than anything they had in the way ofhorse-flesh, fresh into the bargain. But a deeper instinct was tellinghim that a little slow thought in the beginning brings quicker resultsat the end. 

Even with only two hours' start they might make the village before heovertook them, and Imbrie might get away on the lake. A stern chase withall the hazards of travel in the wilderness might continue for days;Stonor was running short of grub; he must provide for their coming back;above all it was necessary that he get word out of what had happened;Clare's safety must not depend alone on the one mortal life he had togive her. Hard as it was to bring himself to it, he determined to get intouch with Tole before starting after Imbrie and the Kakisas. 

To that end he mounted one of his poorer horses and galloped headlongback through the bush. After ten miles or so, in a little open meadow hecame upon the handsome breed boy riding along without a care in theworld, hand on hip and "Stetson" cocked askew, singing lustily of_Gentille Alouette_. Never in his life had Stonor been so glad to seeanybody. His set, white face worked painfully; for a moment he couldnot speak, but only grip the boy's shoulder. Tole was scared half out ofhis wits to see his revered idol so much affected. 

All the way along Stonor had been thinking what he would do. It wouldnot be sufficient to send a message by Tole; he must write to JohnGaviller and to Lambert at the Crossing; one letter would do for both;the phrases were all ready to his pencil. Briefly explaining thesituation to Tole, he sat down to his note-book. Two pages held it all;Stonor would have been surprised had he been told that it was a model ofconciseness. 

 "JOHN GAVILLER and Sergeant LAMBERT, R. N. W. M. P. 

 "While returning with my prisoner Ernest Imbrie, suspected of murder, at a point on the Horse Track six miles from Swan River, a band of Indians from Swan Lake drove off my horses, and while I was away looking for them, rescued my prisoner, and also carried off the two women in my party. Am returning to Swan Lake now with four horses. Suppose that Imbrie reaching there will take to the lake and the upper Swan, as that provides his only means of getting out of the country this way. Suggest that Mr. Gaviller get this through to Lambert regardless of expense. Suggest that Lambert as soon as he gets it might ride overland from the Crossing to the nearest point on the Swan. If he takes one of his folding boats, and takes a man to ride the horses back, he could come down the Swan. I will be coming up, and we ought to pinch Imbrie between the two of us. The situation is a serious one, as Imbrie has the whole tribe of Kakisas under his thumb. He will stop at nothing now; may be insane. The position of the women is a frightful one. 

 "MARTIN STONOR. "

Stonor took Tole's pack-horse with its load of grub, and the breed tiedhis bed and rations for three days behind his saddle. Stonor gripped hishand. 

"So long, kid! Ride like hell. It's the most you can do for me. "

 * * * * *

Eight hours later, Stonor, haggard with anxiety and fatigue, and drivinghis spent horses before him, rode among the tepees of the village besideSwan Lake. That single day had aged him ten years. His second coming wasreceived with a significant lack of surprise. The Indians wereostentatiously engaged at their customary occupations: mending boats andother gear, cleaning guns, etc. Stonor doubted if such a picture ofuniversal industry had ever been offered there. Dismounting, he calledperemptorily for Myengeen. 

The head man came to him with a certain air of boldness, that slowlywithered, however, under the fire that leaped up in the white man'sweary blue eyes. Under his savage inscrutability the signs of fidgetsbecame perceptible. Perhaps he had not expected the trooper to brave himsingle-handed, but had hoped for more time to obliterate tracks, and letmatters quiet down. Many a dark breast within hearing quailed at thesound of the policeman's ringing voice, though his words were notunderstood. The one determined man struck more terror than a troop. 

"Myengeen, you and your people have defied the law! Swift and terriblepunishment awaits you. Don't think you can escape it. You have carriedoff a white woman. Such a thing was never known. If a single hair of herhead is harmed, God help you! Where is she?"

Myengeen's reply was a pantomime of general denial. 

Stonor marched him back of the tepees where the Kakisas' horses werefeeding on the flat. He silently pointed to their hanging heads andsweaty flanks. Many of the beasts were still too weary to feed: one ortwo were lying down done for. Stonor pointed out certain peculiaritiesin their feet, and indicated that he had been following those tracks. This mute testimony impressed Myengeen more than words; his eyes bolted;he took refuge in making believe not to understand. 

Stonor's inability to command them in their own tongue made him feelmaddeningly impotent. 

"Where is the woman who speaks English?" he cried, pointing to his owntongue. 

Myengeen merely shrugged. 

Stonor then ordered all the people into their tepees, and such is thepower of a single resolute voice that they meekly obeyed. Proceedingfrom tepee to tepee he called out likely-looking individuals to bequestioned out of sight of the others. For a long time it was withoutresult; men and women alike, having taken their cue from Myengeen, feigned not to understand. Such children as he tried to question werescared almost into insensibility. Stonor began to feel as if he werebutting his head against a stone wall. 

At last from a maiden he received a hint that was sufficient. She was acomely girl with a limpid brown eye. Either she had a soul above theKakisas or else the bright-haired trooper touched her fancy. At anyrate, when he looked in the tepee, where she sat demurely beyond hermale relatives, she gave him a shy glance that did not lack humanity. Calling her outside, he put the invariable question to her, accompaniedwith appropriate signs: where was the white woman?

She merely glanced towards the mouth of the creek where the canoes lay, then looked up the lake. It was sufficient. Stonor gave her a gratefulglance and let her go. He never knew her name. That the Kakisas mightnot suspect her of having betrayed them, he continued his questioningfor awhile. Last of all he re-interrogated Myengeen. He did not care ifsuspicion fell on him. 

Stonor coolly picked out the best-looking canoe in the creek, and loadedaboard what he required of his outfit. Myengeen and his men sullenlylooked on. The trooper, seeing that a fair breeze was blowing up thelake, cut two poplar poles, and with a blanket quickly rigged mast andsail. When he was ready to start he delivered the rest of his outfit toMyengeen, and left his horses in his care. 

"This is government property, " he said sternly. "If anything is lostfull payment will be collected. "

He sailed down the creek followed by the wondering exclamations of theKakisas. Sailing was an unknown art to them, and in their amazement atthe sight, like the children they were, they completely forgot thegrimness of the situation. Stonor thought: "How can you make such ascatter-brained lot realize what they're doing!"

Stonor had supposed that Imbrie would take to the lake. On arriving atthe brow of the last ridge his first thought had been to search itsexpanse, but he had seen nothing. Since then various indicationssuggested that they had between four and five hours' start of him. Hehad been delayed on the trail by his pack-horses. The speed he wasmaking under sail was not much better than he could have paddled, but itenabled him to take things easy for a while. 

Swan Lake is about thirty miles long. Fully ten miles of it was visiblefrom the start. It is shaped roughly like three uneven links of a chain, and in width it varies from half a mile to perhaps five miles. It seemsvaster than it is on account of its low shores which stretch back, flatand reedy, for miles. Here dwelt the great flocks of wild geese or"wavies" that gave both lake and river their names. 

As he got out into the lake the wind gradually strengthened behind him, and his canoe was blown hither and yon like an inflated skin on thewater. She had no keel, she took no grip of the water, and much of thegoodly aid of the wind was vainly measured against the strength ofStonor's arms as he laboured to keep her before it. When he did get thewind full in his top-heavy sail it blew him almost bodily under. Stonorwelcomed the struggle. He was now making much better time than he couldhave hoped for by his paddle. He grimly carried on. 

In order to accommodate the two women and their necessary outfit, Stonorsupposed that Imbrie must have taken one of the dug-outs. He did notbelieve that any of the Kakisas had accompanied the fugitive. Theprospect of a long journey would appal them. And Stonor was pretty surethat Mary was not over-working herself at the paddle, so that it was nottoo much to hope that he was catching up on them at this rate. Thinkingof their outfit, Stonor wondered how Imbrie would feed Clare; theordinary fare of the Kakisas would be a cruel hardship on her. Such arethe things one worries about in the face of much more dreadful dangers. 

It had been nearly six o'clock before Stonor left Myengeen's village, and the sun went down while he was still far from the head of the lake. He surveyed the flat shores somewhat anxiously. Nowhere, as far as hecould see, was there any promising landing-place. In the end he decidedto sail on through the night. As darkness gathered he took his bearingsfrom the stars. With the going-down of the sun the wind moderated, butit still held fair and strong enough to give him good steerage-way. After an hour or two the shores began to close around him. He could notfind the outlet of the river in the dark, so he drove into the reeds, and, taking down his sail, supped on cold bread and lake-water and laydown in his canoe. 

In the morning he found the river without difficulty. It was a sluggishstream here, winding interminably between low cut banks, edged withdangling grass-roots on the one side and mud-flats on the other. Fromthe canoe he could see nothing above the banks. Landing to take asurvey, Stonor beheld a vast treeless bottom, covered with rank grass, and stretching to low piny ridges several miles back on either hand. Notell-tale thread of smoke on the still air betrayed the camp of the manhe was seeking. 

He resumed his way. Of his whole journey this part was the mostdifficult trial to his patience. There was just current enough to mockat his efforts with the paddle. He seemed scarcely to crawl. It wasmaddening after his brisk progress up the lake. Moreover, each bend wasso much like the last that he had no sense of getting on, and theinvariable banks hemmed in his sight. He felt like a man condemned to atreadmill. 

He had been about two hours on the river when he saw a little objectfloating towards him on the current that instantly caught his eyebecause it had the look of something fashioned. He paddled to it with abeating heart. It proved to be a tiny raft contrived out of severallengths of stout stick, tied together with strips of rag. On the littleplatform, out of reach of the water, was tied with another strip a rollof the white outer bark of the birch. Stonor untied it and spread it outon his knee with a trembling hand. It was a letter printed in crookedcharacters with a point charred in the fire. 

[Illustration:

 WE WELL. HIM NOT HURT CLARE ENY. HIM SCAR OF CRAZEE CLARE SLEEP BY ME. HIM GOIN CROST /\/\/\/\/\

 FROM MARY]

A warm stream forced its way into the trooper's frozen breast, and theterrible strained look in his eyes relaxed. For a moment he covered hiseyes with his arm, though there was none to see. His most dreadful andunacknowledged fear was for the moment relieved. Gratitude filled him. 

"Good old Mary!" he thought. "She went to all that trouble just on thechance of easing my mind. By God! if we come through this all right I'lldo something for her!"

"Him scar of crazee, " puzzled him for a while, until it occurred to himthat Mary wished to convey that Imbrie let Clare alone because hebelieved that her loss of memory was akin to insanity. This was wherethe red strain in him told. All Indians have a superstitious awe of theinsane. The sign at the end of the letter was for mountains, of course. The word, no doubt, was beyond Mary's spelling. What care andcircumspection must have gone to the writing and the launching of thenote! It must all have been done while Imbrie slept. 

Stonor applied himself to his paddle again with a better heart. Aftertwo hours more he came to their camping-place of the night before. Itwas a spot designed by Nature for a camp, with a little beach of cleansand below, and a grove of willow and birch above. Stonor landed to seewhat tell-tale signs they had left behind them. 

He saw that they were in a dug-out: it had left its furrow in the sandwhere it was pulled up. He saw the print of Clare's little common-senseboot in the sand, and the sight almost unmanned him; Mary's track wasthere too, that he knew well, and Imbrie's; and to his astonishmentthere was a fourth track unknown to him. It was that of a small man or alarge woman. Could Imbrie have persuaded one of the Kakisas to accompanyhim? This was all he saw. He judged from the signs that they had aboutfive hours' start of him. 

From this point the character of the country began to change. Theriver-banks became higher and wooded; there were outcroppings of rockand small rapids. Stonor saw from the tracks alongshore that where thecurrent was swift they had towed the dug-out up-stream, but he had tostick to his paddle. Though he put forth his best efforts all day hescarcely gained on them, for darkness came upon him soon after he hadpassed the place where they spelled in mid-afternoon. 

On the next day in mid-morning he was brought to stand by a fork in theriver. There was nothing to tell him which branch to choose, for thecurrent was easy here and the trackers had re-embarked. Both brancheswere of about equal size: one came from the south-east, one from dueeast; either might reach to the mountains if it was long enough. Stonorhad pondered on the map of that country, but on it the Swan River wasonly indicated as yet by a dotted line. All that was known of the streamby report was that it rose in the Rocky Mountains somewhere to the northof Fort Cheever, and, flowing in a north-westerly direction, roughlyparallel with the Spirit, finally emptied into Great Buffalo Lake. Stonor remembered no forks on the map. 

He was about to choose at random, when he was struck by a difference inthe colour of the water of the two branches. The right-hand fork was aclear brown, the other greenish with a milky tinge. Now brown water, aseverybody knows, comes from swamps or muskegs, while green water is theproduct of melting snow and ice. Stonor took the left-hand branch. 

Shortly afterwards he was rewarded by a sight of the spot where they hadmade their first spell of the day. Landing, he found the ashes of theirfire still warm; they could not have been gone more than an hour. Thiswas an unexpected gain; some accident of travel must have delayed them. Embarking, he bent to his paddle with a renewed hope. Surely by goingwithout a meal himself he ought to come on them before they finishedtheir second spell. 

But the river was only half of its former volume now, and the rapidswere more brawling, and more tedious to ascend. However, he consoledhimself with the thought that if they held him back they would delay thedug-out no less. The river was very lovely on these upper reaches; inhis anxiety to get on he scarcely marked that at the moment, butafterwards he remembered its park-like shores, its forget-me-nots andraspberry-blossoms, and the dappled sunlight falling through theaspen-foliage. It was no different from the rivers of his boyhood in asheltered land, with swimming-holes at the foot of the little rapids:only the fenced fields and the quiet cattle were lacking above thebanks, and church-spires in the distant vistas. 

Within an hour Stonor himself became the victim of one of the ordinaryhazards of river-travel. In a rapid one of his paddles broke in half;the current carried him broadside on a rock, and a great piece of barkwas torn from the side of his frail craft. Landing, he surveyed thedamage, grinding his teeth with angry disappointment. It meant the lossof all he had so hardly gained on the dug-out. 

To find a suitable piece of bark, and spruce-gum to cement it with, required a considerable search in the bush. It then had to be sewed onwith needle and thread, the edges gummed, and the gum given time to drypartly, in the heat of the fire. The afternoon was well advanced beforehe got afloat again, and darkness compelled him to camp in the spotwhere they had made their second, that is to say, the mid-afternoon, spell. 

The next two days, his third and fourth in the river, were withoutespecial incident. The river maintained its sylvan character, though thebordering hills or bench were gradually growing higher and bolder. Stonor, by putting every ounce that was in him into his paddle, slowlygained again on the dug-out. He knew now that Imbrie, irrespective ofMary, had a second paddle to help him. It gave the dug-out an advantage, especially in swift water, that more than neutralized its extra weight. 

By evening of the fourth day all signs indicated that he was drawingclose to his quarry again. He kept on until forced to stop by completedarkness. On this night the sky was heavily overcast, and it was as darkas a winter's night. He camped where he happened to be; it was a poorspot, no more than a stony slope among willows. He had done all hisnecessary cooking during the day, so there was no need to wait for hissupper. 

The mosquitoes were troublesome, and he put up his tent, hastilyslinging it between two trees, and weighing down the sides and the backwith a few stones. To his tent he afterwards ascribed the preservationof his life. It was the simplest form of tent, known as a "lean-to, " or, as one might say, merely half a tent sliced along the ridge-pole, with aroof sloping to the ground at the back, and the entire front open to thefire except for a mosquito-bar. 

His bed was hard, but he was too weary to care. He lay down in hisblanket, but not to achieve forgetfulness immediately; strongdiscipline was still required to calm his hot impatience. How could hesleep, not knowing perhaps but that one more mile might bring him to hisgoal? Indeed, Imbrie's camp might be around the next bend. But he couldnot risk his frail canoe in the shallow river after dark. 

Stonor was on the borderland of sleep when he was suddenly roused tocomplete wakefulness by a little sound from behind his tent. A woodsmansoon learns to know all the normal sounds of night, and this wassomething different, an infinitely stealthy sound, as of a body draggingitself an inch at a time, with long waits between. It seemed to beslowly making its way around his tent towards the open front. 

Now Stonor knew that there was no animal in his country that stalkshuman prey, and he instantly thought of his two-legged enemy. Quick andnoiselessly as a cat he slipped out of his blankets, and rolling hisdunnage-bag in his place drew the blanket over it. In the faint lightreflected from the embers outside it might be supposed that he still laythere. He then cautiously moved the stones aside, and slipped out underthe wall of his tent on the side opposite to that whence the creepingsounds now came. 

On hands and knees he crawled softly around the back of his tent, determined to stalk the stalker. He felt each inch of the way inadvance, to make sure there was nothing that would break or turn underhis weight. He could hear no sounds from the other side now. Roundingthe back of his tent, at the corner he lay flat and stuck his headaround. At first he could see nothing. The tall trees on the furthershore cut off all but the faintest gleam of light from the river. Alittle forward and to the left of his tent there was a thick clump ofwillow, making a black shadow at its foot that might have concealedanything. Stonor watched, breathing with open mouth to avoid betrayinghimself. Little by little he made out a shadowy form at the foot of thewillows, a shape merely a degree blacker than its background. He couldbe sure of nothing. 

Then his heart seemed to miss a beat, for against the wan surface of theriver he saw an arm raised and a gun point--presumably at the dummy hehad left under the tent. Oddly enough his shock of horror was notprimarily that one should seek to kill him, Stonor; he was first of allappalled at the outrage offered to the coat he wore. 

The gun spoke and flame leaped from the barrel. Stonor, gatheringhimself up, sprang forward on the assassin. At the first touch herecognized with a great shock of surprise that it was a woman he had todeal with. Her shoulders were round and soft under his hands; the gruntshe uttered as he bore her back was feminine. He wrenched the gun fromher hands and cast it to one side. 

When she caught her breath she fought like a mad cat, with every lithemuscle of her body and with teeth and claws too. She was strong; strongand quick as a steel spring. More than once she escaped him. Once shegot half-way up the bank; but here he bore her down on her face andlocked her arms behind her in a grip she was powerless to break. 

Jerking her to her feet--one is not too gentle even with a woman who hasjust tried to murder one--he forced her before him back to his tent. Here, holding her with one arm while she swayed and wrenched in herefforts to free herself, he contrived to draw his knife, and to cut offone of the stay-ropes of his tent. With this he bound her wriststogether behind her back, and passed the end round a stout trunk ofwillow. The instant he stood back she flung herself forward on the rope, but the jerk on her arms must have nearly dislocated them. It brought ashriek of pain from her. She came to a standstill, sobbing for breath. 

Stonor collected dead twigs, and blew on the embers. In a minute or twohe had a bright blaze, and turned, full of curiosity to see what he hadgot. He saw a breed woman of forty years or more, still, for a wonder, uncommonly handsome and well-formed. The pure hatred that distorted herfeatures could not conceal her good looks. She had the fine straightfeatures of her white forebears, and her dusky cheeks flamed withcolour. She bore herself with a proud, savage grace. 

More than the woman herself, her attire excited Stonor's wonder. It wasa white woman's get-up. Her dress, though of plain black cotton, was cutwith a certain regard to the prevailing style. She wore corsets--strangephenomenon! Stonor had already discovered it before he got a look ather. Her hair had been done on top of her head in a white woman'sfashion, though it was pretty well down now. Strangest of all, she woregold jewellery; rings on her fingers and drops in her ears; a showy goldlocket hanging from a chain around her neck. On the whole a surprisingapparition to find on the banks of the unexplored river. 

Stonor, studying her, reflected that this was no doubt the woman he hadseen with Imbrie at Carcajou Point two months before. The Indians hadreferred to her derisively as his "old woman. " But it was strange he hadheard nothing of her from the Kakisas. She must have been concealed inthe very tepee from which Imbrie had issued on the occasion of Stonor'sfirst visit to the village at Swan Lake. The Indians down the river hadnever mentioned her. He was sure she could not have lived with Imbriedown there. Where, then, had he picked her up? Where had she been whileImbrie was down there? How had she got into the country anyway? The morehe thought of it the more puzzling it was. Certainly she had come fromfar; Stonor was well assured he would have heard of so striking apersonage as this anywhere within his own bailiwick. 

Another thought suddenly occurred to him. This of course would be thewoman who had tried to decoy him out of his camp with her cries for helpin English. At least she explained that bit of the all-envelopingmystery. 

"Well, here's a pretty how-de-do!" said Stonor with grim humour. "Whoare you?"

She merely favoured him with a glance of inexpressible scorn. 

"I know you talk English, " he said, "good English too. So there's no usetrying to bluff me that you don't understand. What is your name, tobegin with?"

Still no answer but the curling lip. 

"What's the idea of shooting at a policeman? Is it worth hanging for?"

She gave no sign. 

He saw that it only gratified her to balk his curiosity, so he turnedaway with a shrug. "If you won't talk, that's your affair. "

He had thrown only light stuff on the fire, and he let it burn itselfout, having no mind to make of himself a shining mark for a bullet fromanother quarter. He lit his pipe and sat debating what to do--or ratherstruggling with his desire to set off instantly in search of Imbrie'scamp. Knowing it must be near, it was hard to be still. Yet better sensetold him he would be at a fatal disadvantage in the dark, particularlyas Imbrie must now be on the alert. There was no help for it. He mustwait for daylight. 

He knew that above all he required sleep to fit him for his work nextday, and he determined to impose sleep on himself if will-power could doit. As he rose to return to his tent a sullen voice from the directionof the willow-bushes spoke up in English as good as his own:

"The mosquitoes are biting me. "

"Ha!" said Stonor, with a grim laugh. "You've found your tongue, eh?Mosquitoes! That's not a patch on what you intended for me, my girl! Butif you want to be friends, all right. First give an account ofyourself. "

She relapsed into silence. 

"I say, tell me who you are and where you came from. "

She said, with exactly the manner of a wilful child: "You can't make metalk. "

"Oh, all right! But I can let the mosquitoes bite you. "

Nevertheless he untied her from the willows and let her crawl under hismosquito-bar. Here he tied ankles as well as wrists, beyond anypossibility of escape. It was not pure philanthropy on his part, for hereflected that when she failed to return, Imbrie might come in search ofher, and take a shot inside his tent just on a chance. For himself hetook his blanket under the darkest shadow of the willows and coveredhimself entirely with it excepting a hole to breathe through. 

He did succeed in sleeping, and when he awoke the sky was clear and thestars paling. Before crawling out of his hiding-place he took a carefulsurvey from between the branches. Nothing stirred outside. Under histent his prisoner was sleeping as calmly as a child. Apparently afrustrated murder more or less was nothing to disturb her peace of mind. Stonor thought grimly--for perhaps the hundredth time in dealing withthe red race: "What a rum lot they are!" He ate some bread that he hadleft, and began to pack up. 

The woman awoke as he took down the tent over her head, and watched hispreparations in a sullen silence. 

"Haven't you got a tongue this morning?" asked Stonor. 

She merely glowered at him. 

However, by and by, when she saw everything being packed in the canoe, she suddenly found her tongue. "Aren't you going to feed me?" shedemanded. 

"No time now, " he answered teasingly. 

Her face turned dark with rage. "You hangman!" she muttered savagely. "You've got a hangman's face all right! Anybody would know what you arewithout your livery!"

Stonor laughed. "Dear! Dear! We are in a pleasant humour this morning!You believe in the golden rule, don't you?--for others!"

When he was ready to start he regarded her grimly. He saw no recoursebut to take her with him, thus quadrupling his difficulties. He didconsider leaving her behind on the chance of returning later, but hecould not tell what hazards the day might have for him. He might beprevented from returning, and murderess though she were, she was human, and he could not bring himself to leave her helpless in the bush. Shestolidly watched the struggle going on in him. 

He gave in to his humanitarian instincts with a sigh. As a finalprecaution he gagged her securely with a handkerchief. He wished to takeno chances of her raising an alarm as they approached Imbrie's camp. Hethen picked her up and laid her in the canoe. She rolled the light craftfrom side to side. 

"If you overturn us you'll drown like a stone, " said Stonor, grinning. "That would help solve my difficulties. "

After that she lay still, her eyes blazing. 

Stonor proceeded. This part of the river was narrow and fairly deep, and the current ran steadily and slow. Through breaks in the ranks ofthe trees he caught sight from time to time of the bench on either hand, which now rose in high bold hills. From this he guessed that he had gotback to the true prairie country again. As is always the case in thatcountry, the slope to the north of the river was grassy, while thesoutherly slope was heavily wooded to the top. 

He peered around each bend with a fast-beating heart, but Imbrie's campproved to be not so near as he had expected. He put a mile behind him, and another mile, and there was still no sign of it. Evidently the womanhad not made her way through the bush, as he had supposed, but had beendropped off to wait for him. After giving him his quietus she had nodoubt intended to take his canoe and join her party. Well, it wasanother lovely morning, and Stonor was thankful her plan had miscarried. 

The river took a twist to the southward. The sun rose and shot his beamshorizontally through the tree-trunks, lighting up the underbrush with astrange golden splendour. It was lovely and slightly unreal, likestage-lighting. The surface of the river itself seemed to be dusted withlight. Far overhead against the blue, so tender and so far away at thislatitude, eagles circled and joyously screamed, each one as if he had anintermittent alarm in his throat. 

In the bow the woman lay glaring at him venomously. Stonor could nothelp but think: "What a gorgeous old world to be fouled with murder andhatred!"

At last, as he crept around an overhanging clump of willows, he saw whathe was in search of, and his heart gave a great leap. Arresting hispaddle, he clung to the branches and peered through, debating what todo. They were still far off and he had not been perceived. Withstraining eyes he watched the three tiny figures that meant so much tohim. Unfortunately there was no chance of taking Imbrie by surprise, forhe had had the wit to choose a camping-place that commanded a viewdown-stream for half a mile. Stonor considered landing, and attemptingto take them from the rear, but even as he looked he saw Imbrie loadingthe dug-out. They would be gone long before he could make his way roundthrough the bush. There was nothing to do but make a dash for it. 

They saw him as soon as he rounded the bend. There was a strangedramatic quality in the little beings running this way and that on thebeach. Stonor, straining every nerve to reach them, was neverthelessobliged to be the witness of a drama in which he was powerless tointervene. He saw Imbrie throw what remained of his baggage into thedug-out. He saw the two petticoated figures start running up the beachtowards him, Stonor. Imbrie started after them. The larger of the twofigures dropped back and grappled with the man, evidently to give theother a chance to escape. But Imbrie succeeded in flinging her off, and, after a short chase, seized the other woman. Stonor could make out thelittle green Norfolk suit now. 

Mary snatched up a billet of wood, and as the man came staggering backwith his burden, she attacked him. He backed towards the dug-out, holding Clare's body in front of him as a shield. But under Mary'sattacks he was finally compelled to drop Clare. She must have fainted, for she lay without moving. Imbrie closed with Mary, and there was abrief violent struggle. He succeeded in flinging her off again. Hereached the dug-out. Mary attacked him again. Snatching up his gun, hefired at her point-blank. She crumpled up on the stones. 

Imbrie picked up Clare and flung her in the dug-out. He pushed off. Allthis had been enacted in not much more time than it takes to read ofit. Stonor was now within a furlong, but still helpless, for he darednot fire at Imbrie for fear of hitting Clare. The dug-out escaped out ofsight round a bend. 

CHAPTER XV

UPS AND DOWNS

Stonor, raging in his helplessness, was nevertheless obliged to stop. Hefound Mary conscious, biting her lips until they bled to keep fromgroaning. Her face was ashy. Yet she insisted on sitting up to prove tohim that she was not badly hurt. 

"Go on! Go on!" she was muttering as he reached her. "I all right. Don'stop! Go after him!"

"Where are you hurt?" Stonor demanded. 

"Just my leg. No bone broke. It is not'ing. Go after him!"

"I can't leave you like this!"

"Give me your little medicine-bag. I dress it all right myself. Goquick!"

"Be quiet! Let me think!" cried the distracted trooper. "I can't leaveyou here helpless. I can't tell when I'll be back. You must have food, ablanket, gun and ammunition. "

As he spoke, he set about getting out what she needed; first of all thelittle medicine chest that he never travelled without. He laid aside thebreed woman's gun and shells for her, and one of his two blankets. Thedelay was maddening. With every second he pictured Imbrie drawingfurther and further away, Clare without a protector now. Though thedug-out was heavier than the bark-canoe, he would be handicapped by thedevilish breed woman, who would be sure to hinder him by every meanswithin her power. Yet he still closed his ears to Mary's urgings to beoff. He built up Imbrie's fire and put on water to heat for her. Hecarried her near the fire, where she could help herself. 

As he worked a new plan came to him, a way out of part of hisdifficulties. "Mary, " he said suddenly, "I'm going to leave the canoewith you, too, and this woman to take care of for me. I'll take to thebench. I can cut him off above. "

"No! No!" she groaned. "Leave the woman and take the canoe. You can comeback when you get her. "

But his mind was made up. A new hope lightened his despair. "No! Hemight get me. Then you'd starve to death. I don't mean to let him getme, but I can't take the chance. I'll travel faster light. Even if Idon't get him to-day, he shan't shake me off. The river is bound to getmore difficult as he goes up. And it's prairie-land above. "

He hastened to get together his pack: gun and ammunition, knife, hatchet, matches, and a little cooking-pot; a small store of flour, salt, baking-powder and smoked meat. 

"Mary, as soon as you feel able to travel, you are to start down-streamin the canoe with the woman. It is up to you to take her out, anddeliver her to the authorities. The charge is attempted murder. You areto tell John Gaviller everything that has happened, and let him actaccordingly. "

All this was said in low tones to keep it from reaching the breedwoman's ears. Stonor now dropped to his knees and put his lips to Mary'sear. "Tell Gaviller we know for sure that Imbrie is trying to escapeover the mountains by way of the head-waters of the Swan, and to makesure that he is intercepted there if he slips through our fingersbelow. "

"I onerstan', " said Mary. 

He gave her a pull from his flask, and she was able to sit up and attendto the dressing of her own wound. 

In ten minutes Stonor was ready to start. He put on a cheery air forMary's benefit. Truly the Indian woman had a task before her that mighthave appalled the stoutest-hearted man. 

"Good-bye, Mary!" he said, gripping her hand. "You're a good pardner. Ishan't forget it. Keep up a good heart. Remember you're a policeman now. Going down you're only about three days' journey from Myengeen'svillage. And you'll have company--though I can't recommend it much. Keepthe gun in your own hands. "

Mary shrugged, with her customary stoicism. "I make her work for me. "She added simply: "Good-bye, Stonor. Bring her back safe. "

"I won't come without her, " he said, and with a wave of his hand struckinto the bush. 

He laid a course at right angles to the river. The floor of this part ofthe valley was covered with a forest which had never known axe nor fire, and the going was difficult and slow over the down timber, somefreshly-fallen, making well-nigh impassable barricades erected on thestumps of its broken branches, some which crumbled to powder at a touch. There was no undergrowth except a few lean shrubs that stretched great, pale leaves to catch the attenuated rays that filtered down. It was ascool and still as a room with a lofty ceiling. High overhead the leavessparkled in the sun. 

It was about half a mile to the foot of the bench, that is to say, tothe side of the gigantic trough that carried the river through theprairie country, though it required an amount of exertion that wouldhave carried one over ten times that distance of road. As soon as Stonorbegan to climb he left the forest behind him; first it diminished intoscattered trees and scrub and then ceased altogether in clean, shortgrass, already curing under the summer sun. Presently Stonor was ableto look clear over the tops of the trees; it was like rising from amine. 

The slope was not regular, but pushed up everywhere in fantastic knollsand terraces. He directed his course as he climbed for a bold projectingpoint from which he hoped to obtain a prospect up the valley. Reachingit at last, he gave himself a breathing-space. He saw, as he hoped, thatthe valley, which here ran due north and south, returned to its normalcourse from the westward a few miles above. Thus, by making a bee-lineacross the prairie, he could cut off a great bend in the watercourse, not to speak of the lesser windings of the river in its valley. Heprayed that Imbrie might have many a rapid to buck that day. 

On top of the bench the prairie rolled to the horizon with nothing tobreak the expanse of grass but patches of scrub. Stonor's heart, burdened as it was, lifted up at the sight. "After all, there's nothinglike the old bald-headed to satisfy a man's soul, " he thought. "If Ionly had Miles Aroon under me now!" Taking his bearings, he set offthrough the grass at the rolling walk he had learned from the Indians. 

Of that long day there is little to report. The endless slopes of grasspresented no distinguishing features; he was alone with the west wind'snoble clouds. He came up on the wind on a brown bear with cream-colouredsnout staying his stomach with the bark of poplar shoots until theberries should be ripe, and sent him doubling himself up with a shout. Time was too precious to allow of more than one spell. This he tookbeside a stream of clear water at the bottom of a vast coulée that layathwart his path. While his biscuits were baking he bagged a couple ofprairie-chickens. One he ate, and one he carried along with him, "forClare's supper. "

At about four o'clock in the afternoon, that is to say, the time of thesecond spell, he struck the edge of the bench again, and once more thevalley was spread below him. He searched it eagerly. The forest coveredit like a dark mat, and the surface of the river was only visible inspots here and there. He found what he was looking for, and his heartraised a little song; a thin thread of smoke rising above the treesalongside the river, and at least a couple of miles in his rear. 

"I'll get him now!" he told himself. 

He debated whether to hasten directly to the river, or continue furtherover the prairie. He decided that the margin of safety was not yet quitewide enough, and took another line along the bench. 

Three hours later he came out on the river's edge with a heart beatinghigh with hope. The placid empty reach that opened to his view told himnothing, of course, but he was pretty sure that Imbrie was safely belowhim. His principal fear was that he had come too far; that Imbrie mightnot make it before dark. The prospect of leaving Clare unprotected inhis hands through the night was one to make Stonor shudder. He decidedthat if Imbrie did not come up by dark, he would make his way downalongshore until he came on their camp. 

Meanwhile he sought down-stream for a better point of vantage. He cameto a rapid. The absence of tracks on either side proved positively thatImbrie had not got so far as this. Stonor decided to wait here. The manwould have to get out to track his dug-out up the swift water, andStonor would have him where he wanted him. Or if it was late when he gothere, he would no doubt camp. 

Stonor saw that the natural tracking-path was across the stream; on theother side also was the best camping-spot, a shelving ledge of rock witha low earth bank above. In order to be ready for them, therefore, hestripped and swam across below the rapid, towing his clothes and hispack on an improvised raft, that he broke up immediately on landing. Dressing, he took up his station behind a clump of berry-bushes thatskirted the bank. Here he lay at full length with his gun in his hands. He made a little gap in the bushes through which he could command theriver for a furlong or so. 

He lay there with his eyes fixed on the point around which the dug-outmust appear. The sun was sinking low; they must soon come or they wouldnot come. On this day he was sure Imbrie would work to the limit. Hesmiled grimly to think how the man would be paddling with his head overhis shoulder, never guessing how danger lay ahead. Oh, but it was hardto wait, though! His muscles twitched, the blood hammered in histemples. 

By and by, from too intense a concentration on a single point, the wholescene became slightly unreal. Stonor found himself thinking: "This isall a dream. Presently I will wake up. "

In the end, when the dug-out did come snaking around the bend, he rubbedhis eyes to make sure they did not deceive him. Though he had beenwaiting for it all that time, it had the effect of a stunning surprise. His heart set up a tremendous beating, and his breath failed him alittle. Then suddenly, as they came closer, a great calm descended onhim. He realized that this was the moment he had planned for, and thathis calculations were now proved correct. For the last time he threwover the mechanism of his gun and reloaded it. 

Imbrie was paddling in the stern, of course. The man looked prettynearly spent, and there was little of his cynical impudence to be seennow. Clare lay on her stomach on the baggage amidships, staring aheadwith her chin propped in her palms, a characteristic boy's attitude thattouched Stonor's heart. Her face was as white as paper, and bore a lookof desperate composure. Stonor had never seen that look; seeing it nowhe shuddered, thinking, what if he had not found them before nightfall!

Imbrie grounded the canoe on the shelf of rock immediately below Stonor, and no more than five paces from the muzzle of his gun. Clare climbedout over the baggage without waiting to be spoken to, and walked awayup-stream a few steps, keeping her back turned to the man. Her head wassunk between her shoulders; she stared out over the rapids, seeingnothing. At the sight of the little figure's piteous dejection ragesurged up in Stonor; he saw red. 

Imbrie got out and went to pick his course up the rapids. He cast asidelong look at Clare's back as he passed her. The man was too weary tohave much devilry in him at the moment. But in his dark eyes there was apromise of devilry. 

Having laid out his course he returned to the bow of the dug-out for histracking-line. This was the moment Stonor had been waiting for. He roseup and stepped forward through the low bushes. Clare saw him first. Alittle gasping cry broke from her. Imbrie spun round, and found himselflooking into the barrel of the policeman's Enfield. No sound escapedfrom Imbrie. His lips turned back over his teeth like an animal's. 

Stonor said, in a voice of deceitful softness: "Take your knife and cutoff a length of that line, say about ten feet. "

No one could have guessed from his look nor his tone that an insane ragepossessed him; that he was fighting the impulse to reverse his gun andclub the man's brains out there on the rock. 

Imbrie did not instantly move to obey. 

"Look sharp!" rasped Stonor. "It wouldn't come hard for me to put abullet through you!"

Imbrie thought better of it, and cut off the rope as ordered. 

"Now throw the knife on the ground. "

Imbrie obeyed, and stepped towards Stonor, holding the rope out. Therewas an evil glint in his eye. 

Stonor stepped back. "No, you don't! Keep within shooting distance, orthis gun will go off!"

Imbrie stopped. 

"Miss Starling, " said Stonor. "Come and tie this man's wrists togetherbehind his back, while I keep him covered. "

She approached, still staring half witlessly as if she saw anapparition. She was shaking like an aspen-leaf. 

"Pull yourself together!" commanded Stonor with stern kindness. "I amnot a ghost. I am depending on you!"

Her back straightened. She took the rope from Imbrie's hands, and passeda turn around his extended wrists. Stonor kept his gun at the man'shead. 

"At this range it would make a clean hole, " he said, grinning. 

To Clare he said: "Tie it as tight as you can. I'll finish the job. "

When she had done her best, he handed his gun over and doubled theknots. Forcing Imbrie to a sitting position, he likewise tied hisankles. 

"That will hold him, I think, " he said, rising. 

The words seemed to break the spell that held Clare. She sank down onthe stones and burst into tears, shaking from head to foot withuncontrollable soft sobs. The sight unnerved Stonor. 

"Oh, don't!" he cried like a man daft, clenching his impotent hands. 

Imbrie smiled. Watching Stonor, he said with unnatural perspicacity:"You'd like to pick her up, wouldn't you?"

Stonor spun on his heel toward the man. "Hold your tongue!" he roared. "By God! another word and I'll brain you! You damned scoundrel! Youscum!"

If Imbrie had wished to provoke the other man to an outburst, he got alittle more than enough. He cringed from the other's blazing eyes, andsaid no more. 

Stonor bent over Clare. "Don't, don't grieve so!" he murmured. "Everything is all right now. "

"I know, " she whispered. "It's just--just relief. I'm just silly now. To-day was too much--too much to bear!"

"I know, " he said. "Come away with me. "

He helped her to her feet and they walked away along the beach. Imbrie'seyes as they followed were not pleasant to see. 

"Martin, I must touch you--to prove that you're real, " she saidappealingly. "Is it wrong?"

"Take my arm, " he said. He drew her close to his side. 

"Martin, that man cannot ever have been my husband. It is not possible Icould ever have given myself to such a one!"

"I don't believe he is. "

"Martin, I meant to throw myself in the river to-night if you had notcome. "

"Ah, don't! I can't bear it! I saw. "

"My flesh crawls at him! To be alone with such a monster--so terriblyalone--I can't tell you----!"

"Don't distress yourself so!"

"I'm not--now. I'm relieving myself. I've got to talk, or my head willburst. The thing that keeps things in broke just now. I've got to talk. I suppose I'm putting it all off on you now. "

"I guess I can stand it, " he said grimly. 

She asked very low: "Do you love me, Martin?"

"You know I do. "

"Yes, I know, but I had to make you say it, because I've got to tellyou. I love you. I adore you. If loving you in my mind is wicked, Ishall have to be a wicked woman. Oh, I'll keep the law. From what Itold you in the beginning, I must have already done some man a wrong. Ishall not wrong another. But I had to tell you. You knew already, so itcan do no great harm. "

He glanced back at Imbrie. "If the law should insist on keeping up sucha horrible thing it would have to be defied, " he said--"even if I am apoliceman!"

"I tell you he is not the man. "

"I hope you're right. "

"But if I am not free, I should not let you ruin yourself on myaccount. "

"Ruin? That's only a word. A man's all right as long as he can work. "

"Oh, Martin, it seems as if I brought trouble and unhappiness on allwhom I approach!"

"That's nonsense!" he said quickly. "You've made me! However this thingturns out. You've brought beauty into my life. You've taken me out ofmyself. You've given me an ideal to live up to!"

"Ah, how sweet for you to say it!" she murmured. "It makes me feel real. I am only a poor wandering ghost of a woman, and you're so solid andconvincing!

"There! I'm all right now!" she said, with an abrupt return to theboyish, prosaic air that he found utterly adorable. "I have exploded. I'm hungry. Let's go back and make supper. It's your turn to talk. Tellme how you got here in advance of us, you wonderful man! And Mary----!"She stopped short and her eyes filled. "How selfish of me to forget hereven for a moment!"

"She was not badly wounded, " he said. "We'll probably overtake herto-morrow. "

"And you? I thought I saw a ghost when you rose up from the bushes. "

"No magic in that, " said Stonor. "I just walked round by the hills. "

"Just walked round by the hills, " she echoed, mocking his offhandmanner, and burst out laughing. "That was nothing at all!" Her eyesadded something more that she dared not put into words: "You were madefor a woman to love to distraction!"

When they returned to the dug-out, Imbrie studied their faces throughnarrowed lids, trying to read there what had passed between them. Theirserenity discomposed him. Hateful taunts trembled on his lips, but hedared not utter them. 

As for Clare and Stonor, neither of them sentimental persons, theirbreasts were eased. Each now felt that he could depend on the other inthe best sense until death: meanwhile passion could wait. They made afire together and cooked their supper with as unconscious an air as ifthey had just come out from home a mile or two to picnic. They ignoredImbrie, particularly Clare, who, with that wonderful faculty that womenpossess, simply obliterated him by her unconsciousness of his presence. The prisoner could not understand their air towards each other. Hewatched them with a puzzled scowl. Clare was like a child over theprairie-chicken. An amiable dispute arose over the division of it, whichStonor won and forced her to eat every mouthful. 

She washed the dishes while he cleared a space among the bushes on topof the bank, and pitched her little tent. The camp-bed was still inImbrie's outfit, and Stonor set it up with tender hands, thinking of theburden it would bear throughout the night. Also in Imbrie's outfit hefound his own service revolver, which he returned to Clare for herprotection. 

Afterwards they made a little private fire for themselves a hundred feetor so from Imbrie, and sedately sat themselves down beside it to talk. 

Stonor said: "If you feel like it, tell me what happened after I went tohunt my horses that morning. "

"I feel like it, " she said, with a smile. "It is such a comfort to beable to talk again. Mary and I scarcely dared whisper. You had been goneabout half an hour that morning when all the Indians rode down out ofthe woods, and crossed the ford to our side. There were about thirty ofthem, I should say. I did just what you told me, that is, went on withmy packing as if they were not there. For a little while they stoodaround staring like sulky children. Finally one of them said to methrough Mary with a sort of truculent air, like a child experimenting tosee how far he can go, that they were going to take Imbrie back. I toldMary to tell him that that was up to him; that he would have to dealwith you later, if they did. Meanwhile I noticed they were edgingbetween me and Imbrie, and presently Imbrie stood up, unbound. He tookcommand of the band. It seemed he had known they were coming. I was onlyanxious to see them all ride off and leave us. 

"Soon I saw there was worse coming. At first I knew only by Mary'sscared face. She argued with them. She would not tell me what it was allabout. Gradually I understood that Imbrie was telling them I was hiswife, and they must take me, too. I almost collapsed. Mary did the bestshe could for me. I don't know all that she said. It did no good. Theprincipal Indian asked me if I was Imbrie's wife, and I could onlyanswer that I did not know, that I had lost my memory. I suppose thisseemed like a mere evasion to them. When Mary saw that they weredetermined, she said they must take her, too. She thought this was whatyou would want. They refused, but she threatened to identify every manof them to the police, so they had to take her. 

"One man's horse had been killed, and they sent him and three others offto the Horse Track village on foot to get horses to ride home on. Thatprovided horses for Imbrie, Mary, and me. They made them go at top speedall day. I expect it nearly killed the horses. I was like a dead woman;I neither felt weariness nor anything else much. If it had not been forMary I could not have survived it. 

"We arrived at their village near Swan Lake early in the afternoon. Imbrie stopped there only long enough to collect food. We never hadanything to eat but tough smoked meat of some kind, dry biscuits, andbitter tea, horrible stuff! It didn't make much difference, though. 

"Imbrie told the Indians what to say when the police came. He couldn'tspeak their language very well, so he had to use Mary to translate, andMary told me. Mary was trying to get on Imbrie's good side now. She saidit wouldn't do any harm, and might make things easier for us. If welulled his suspicions we might get a chance to escape later, she said. She wanted me to make up to Imbrie, too, but I couldn't. 

"Imbrie told the Indians to go about their usual work as if nothing hadhappened, and simply deny everything if they were questioned. Nothingcould be proved he said, for he and Mary and I would never be found norheard of again. He was going to take us back to his country, he said. Bythat they understood, I think, that we were going to disappear off theearth. They seemed to have the most absolute faith in him. They thoughtyou wouldn't dare follow until you had secured help from the post, whichwould take many days. "

"What about the breed woman?" interrupted Stonor. 

"She was waiting there at the Swan Lake village. She came with us as amatter of course, and helped paddle the dug-out. Mary paddled, too, butshe didn't work as hard as she made believe. We got in the river beforedark, but Imbrie made them paddle until late. I dreaded the first camp, but Imbrie let me alone. Mary said he was afraid of me because hethought I was crazy. After that, you may be sure, I played up to thatidea. It worked for a day or two, but I saw from his eyes that he wasgradually becoming suspicious. 

"At night Imbrie and the breed woman took turns watching. Whenever wegot a chance Mary and I talked about you, and what you would do. We knewof course that the man was coming out from Fort Enterprise, and I wassure that you would send him back for aid, and come right after usyourself. So Mary wrote you the note on a piece of bark, and set itadrift in the current. It was wonderful how she deceived them rightbefore their eyes. But they gave us a good deal of freedom. They knew wecould do nothing unless we could get weapons, or steal the canoes. Shewent down the shore a little way to launch her message to you. 

"Well, that's about all I can remember. The days on the river were likea nightmare. All we did was to watch for you, and listen at night. Thencame yesterday. By that time Imbrie was beginning to feel secure, andwas taking it easier. We were sitting on the shore after the secondspell when the breed woman came running in in a panic. We understoodfrom her gestures that she had seen you turning into the next reach ofthe river below. Mary's heart and mine jumped for joy. Imbrie hustled usinto the dug-out, and paddled like mad until he had put a couple ofbends between us and the spot. 

"Later, he put the breed woman ashore. She had her gun. We wereterrified for you, but could do nothing. Imbrie carried us a long wayfurther before he camped. That was a dreadful night. We had no way ofknowing what was happening. Then came this morning. You saw whathappened then. "

Stonor asked: "What did you make of that breed woman?"

"Nothing much, Martin. I felt just as I had with Imbrie, that I musthave known her at some time. She treated me well enough; that is tosay, she made no secret of the fact that she despised me, but wasconstrained to look after me as something that Imbrie valued. "

"Jealous?"

"No. "

"What is the connection between her and Imbrie?"

"I don't know. They just seemed to take each other for granted. "

"How did Imbrie address her?"

"I don't know. They spoke to each other in some Indian tongue. Mary saidit sounded a little like the Beaver language, but she could notunderstand it. "

"Where do you suppose this woman kept herself while Imbrie was livingbeside the falls?"

Clare shook her head. 

"If we knew that it would explain much!"

"Well, that's all of my story, " said Clare. "Now tell me every littlething you've done and thought since you left us. "

"That's a large order, " said Stonor, smiling. 

When he had finished his tale he took her to the door of her tent. 

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked anxiously. 

"Down by the fire. "

"Near--him?"

"That won't keep me awake. "

"But if he should work loose and attack you?"

"I'll take precious good care of that. "

"It's so far away!" she said plaintively. 

"Twenty-five feet!" he said smiling. 

"Couldn't you--sleep close outside my tent where I could hear youbreathing if I woke?"

He smiled, and gave her his eyes deep and clear. There comes a momentbetween every two who deeply love when shame naturally drops away, andto assume shame after that is the rankest hypocrisy. "I couldn't, " hesaid simply. 

She felt no shame either. "Very well, " she said. "You know best. Good-night, Martin. "

Stonor went back to the fire. He was too much excited to think ofsleeping immediately, but it was a happy excitement; he could evenafford at the moment not to hate Imbrie. The prisoner watched his everymovement through eyes that he tried to make sleepy-looking, but thesparkle of hatred betrayed him. 

"You seem well pleased with yourself, " he sneered. 

"Why shouldn't I be?" said Stonor good-naturedly. "Haven't I made a goodhaul to-day?"

"How did you do it?"

"I just borrowed a little of your magic for the occasion and flewthrough the air. "

"Well, you're not out of the woods yet, " said Imbrie sourly. 

"No?"

"And if you do succeed in taking me in, you'll have some greatexplaining to do. "

"How's that?"

"To satisfy your officers why you hounded a man simply because you wereafter his wife. "

Stonor grinned. "Now that view of the matter never occurred to me!"

"It will to others. "

"Well, we'll see. "

"What's become of the two women?" asked Imbrie. 

"They're on their way down-stream. "

"What happened anyway, damn you?"

Stonor laughed and told him. 

Later, after a thoughtful silence, Stonor suddenly asked: "Imbrie, howdid you treat measles among the Kakisas last year? That would be a goodthing for me to know. "

"No doubt. But I shan't tell you, " was the sullen answer. 

"The worst thing we have to deal with up here is pneumonia; how wouldyou deal with a case?"

"What are you asking me such questions for?"

"Well, you're supposed to be a doctor. "

"I'm not going to share my medical knowledge with every guy who asks. Itwas too hard to come by. "

"That's not the usual doctor's attitude. "

"A hell of a lot I care!"

Stonor took out his note-book, and wrote across one of the pages: "Thebody was not carried over the falls. " He then poked the fire into abright blaze, and showed the page to Imbrie. 

"What have I written?" he asked, watching the man narrowly. 

Imbrie glanced at it indifferently, and away again. There was not theslightest change in his expression. Stonor was convinced he had notunderstood it. 

"I won't tell you, " muttered Imbrie. 

"Just as you like. If I untie your hands, will you write a line from mydictation?"

"No. What foolishness is this?"

"Only that I suspect you can neither read nor write. This is youropportunity to prove that you can. "

"Oh, go to hell!"

"I'm satisfied, " said Stonor, putting away the book. 

Travelling down the river next morning was child's play by comparisonwith the labour of the ascent. The current carried them with lighthearts. That is to say, two of the hearts on board were light. Imbrie, crouched in the bow with his inscrutable gaze, was hatching new schemesof villainy perhaps. Clare sat as far as possible from him, and with herback turned. All day she maintained the fiction that she and Stonor werealone in the dug-out. In the reaction from the terrors of the last fewdays her speech bubbled like a child's. She pitched her voice low tokeep it from carrying forward. All her thoughts looked to the future. 

"Three or four days to the village at Swan Lake, you say. We won't haveto wait there, will we?"

"My horses are waiting. "

"Then four days more to Fort Enterprise. You said there was a whitewoman there. How I long to see one of my own kind! She'll be myfirst--in this incarnation. Then we'll go right out on the steamboat, won't we?"

"We'll have to wait a few days for her August trip. "

"You'll come with me, of course. "

"Yes, I'll have to take my prisoners out to headquarters at Miwasalanding--perhaps all the way to town if it is so ordered. "

"And when we get to town, what shall I do? Adrift on the world!"

"Before that I am sure we will meet with anxious inquiries for you. "

"Yes, I have a comfortable feeling at the back of my head that I havepeople somewhere. Poor things, what a state they must be in! It will bepart of your duty to take me home, won't it? Surely the authoritieswouldn't let me travel alone. "

"Surely not!" said Stonor assuming more confidence than he felt. 

"Isn't it strange and thrilling to think of a civilized land wheretrolley cars clang in the streets, and electric lights shine at night;where people, crowds and crowds of people, do exactly the same things atthe same hours every day of their lives except Sundays, and never dreamof any other kind of life! Think of sauntering down-town in a prettysummer dress and a becoming hat, and chatting with scores of people youknow, and looking at things in the stores and buying uselesstrifles--where have I done all that, I wonder? Think of pulling up one'schair to a snowy tablecloth--and, oh, Martin! the taste of good food!Funny, isn't it, when I have forgotten so much, that I should remember_things_ so well!"

Clare insisted that Stonor had overtired himself the last few days, andmade him loaf at the paddle with many a pause to fill and light hispipe. Even so their progress was faster than in the other direction. Shortly after midday she told him that they were nearing the spot whereMary had been shot the day before. They looked eagerly for the place. 

To their great disappointment Mary had gone. However, Stonor pointed outthat it was a good sign she had been able to travel so soon. 

They camped for the night at a spot where Mary had spelled the daybefore. Stonor observed from the tracks that it was the breed woman whohad moved around the fire cooking. Mary apparently had been unable toleave the canoe. It made him anxious. He did not speak of it to Clare. He saw Imbrie examining the tracks also. 

This camping-place was a bed of clean, dry sand deposited on the insideof one of the river-bends, and exposed by the falling water. Stonorchose it because it promised a soft bed, and his bones were weary. Thebank above was about ten feet high and covered with a dense undergrowthof bushes, which they did not try to penetrate, since a dead treestranded on the beach provided an ample store of fuel. Clare's tent waspitched at one end of the little beach, while Imbrie, securely bound, and Stonor slept one on each side of the fire a few paces distant. 

In the morning Stonor was the first astir. A delicate grey haze hungover the river, out of which the tops of the willow-bushes rose likeislands. He chopped and split a length of the stranded trunk, and madeup the fire. Imbrie awoke, and lay watching him with a lazy sneer. Stonor had no warning of the catastrophe. He was stooping over sortingout the contents of Imbrie's grub-bag, his back to the bushes, whenthere came a crashing sound that seemed within him--yet outside. Thatwas all he knew. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE LAST STAGE ON SWAN RIVER. 

When Stonor's sense returned the first thing of which he was consciouswas Clare's soft hand on his head. He opened his eyes and saw her facebending over him, the nurse's face, serious, compassionate andself-forgetful. No one knows what reserves may be contained in a womanuntil another's wound draws on them. He found himself lying where he hadfallen; but there was a bag under his neck to hold his head up. Puttingup his hand he found that his head was tightly bandaged. There seemed tobe a mechanical hammer inside his skull. 

"What happened?" he whispered. 

She scarcely breathed her reply. "The woman shot you. She was hidden inthe bush. "

Looking beyond her, Stonor saw Imbrie and the breed woman eating by thefire in high good humour. He observed that the woman was wearing therevolver he had given Clare. 

"She disarmed me before I could fire, " Clare went on. "Your wound is notserious. The bullet only ploughed the scalp above your ear. "

"Who bandaged me?"

"I did. They didn't want to let me, but I made them. I sewed the woundfirst. I don't know how I did it, but I did. "

Imbrie looked over and saw them talking. "Let him alone, " he saidharshly. "Come over here and get your breakfast. "

"Go, " said Stonor with his eyes and lips. "If he attempted to ill-treatyou in my sight I----"

She understood, and went without demur. Imbrie motioned her to a placebeside him and put a plate before her. She went through the motions ofeating, but her eyes never left Stonor's face. Stonor closed his eyesand considered their situation. Frightful enough it was in good sooth, yet it might have been worse. For as he lay quiet he felt his powersreturning. Beyond a slight nausea he was himself again. He thanked Godfor a hard skull. 

Meanwhile the breed woman was bragging of her exploit. She spoke inEnglish for the pleasure it gave her to triumph over the whites. 

"He gave Mary his canoe and made for the bench. "

"I know that, " said Imbrie. "Go on. "

"Well, as soon as Mary had bound up her leg she wanted to start. But herleg got worse on the way. When it came time to spell, she had to untieme and let me cook, while she kept watch over me with the gun--my gunthat Stonor gave her. It was at this place that we spelled. When we wenton, her leg kept getting worse, and soon she said we'd have to stop forthe night. So I made camp. Then she ordered me to come up to her and getmy hands tied, and patted the gun as a sort of hint. I went up to herall right, and when she put down the gun and took up the rope, Isnatched up the gun, and then I had her!"

The woman and Imbrie roared with laughter. 

"Then I just took her knife and her food, and went, " the woman said, callously. 

"Damned inhuman--!" Stonor cried involuntarily. 

"What's the matter with you!" she returned. "Do you think I was going tolet her take me in and turn me over for shooting at a policeman? Not ifI know it! I was charitable to her if it comes to that. I could havetaken her canoe, too, and then she would properly have starved. But Ileft her the canoe and a piece of bread, too. Mary Moosa is fat enough. I guess she can live off her fat long enough to get to Myengeen'svillage. "

"What then?" asked Imbrie. 

"I just walked off up the river. She couldn't follow me with her leg. She couldn't track the canoe up the rapids. All she can do is to go ondown. "

"How did you know where I was?" asked Imbrie. 

"I didn't know. I took a chance. I had the gun and a belt of cartridges. I can snare fool-hens and catch fish. It was a sight better than goingto jail. I knew if the policeman got you he'd bring you down river, andI figured I'd have another chance to get him. And if you got him Ifigured there wouldn't be any hurry, and you'd wait for awhile for me. "

"You did well, " said Imbrie with condescending approval. 

"Nearly all night I walked along the shore looking for your camp. Atlast I saw the little tent and I knew I was all right. Then I waited fordaylight to shoot. The damned policeman turned his head as I fired, or Iwould have finished him. "

Imbrie dropped into the Indian tongue that they ordinarily used. Fromhis knowledge of the Beaver language Stonor understood it pretty well, though a word escaped him here and there. 

"What will we do with him?" he said. 

"Be careful, " she said. "They may understand. "

"No fear of that. We know that Clare doesn't speak our tongue. "

"Maybe the policeman speaks Beaver. "

"He doesn't, though. He spoke English to them. I asked Shose Cardinal ifhe spoke Beaver, and he said no. And when I pushed off I insulted him inour tongue, and he paid no attention. Listen to this----"

Imbrie turned, and in the Indian tongue addressed an unrepeatable insultto the wounded trooper. Stonor, though almost suffocated with rage, contrived to maintain an unchanged face. 

"You see?" said Imbrie to the woman, laughing. "No white man would takethat. We can say what we like to each other. Speak English now just totorment him, the swine! Ask me in English what I'm going to do withhim. "

She did so. 

"Oh, I don't know, " he answered carelessly. "Just tie him up, I guess, and leave him sitting here. "

"Tie him up?" she said with an evil smile. 

"Sure! Give him leisure to prepare for his end. "

They laughed together. 

Stonor dreaded the effect of this on Clare. She, however, seemed to beupborne by some inner thought. 

"I know something better than that, " the woman said presently. 

"What?"

"Don't tie him up. Leave him just as he is, without gun, axe or knife. Let him walk around until he goes off his nut or starves to death. Thenthere'll be no evidence. But if you leave him tied they'll find his bodywith the rope round it. "

"That's a good idea. But he might possibly make his way to Myengeen'svillage. "

"Just let him try it. It's a hundred and fifty miles round by land. Muskeg and down timber. "

"But if he sticks to the river, Mary Moosa might bring him back help. "

"She'll get no help from Myengeen. She's got to go to Enterprise forhelp. Two weeks. Even a redbreast couldn't last two weeks in the bush. And by that time we'll be----"

"Easy!" said Imbrie warningly. 

"We'll be out of reach, " she said, laughing. 

"All right, it's a go, " said Imbrie. "We'll leave him just as he is. Pack up now. "

Stonor glanced anxiously at Clare. Her face was deathly pale, but shekept her head up. 

"Do you think I'm going to go and leave him here?" she said firmly toImbrie. 

"Don't see how you're going to help yourself, " said he, without meetingher eyes. 

"If you put me in the dug-out I'll overturn it, " she said promptly. 

Imbrie was taken aback. "I'll tie you up, " he muttered, scowling. 

"You cannot tie me so tight that I can't overturn that cranky boat. "

"You'll be the first to drown. "

She smiled. "Do you think I value the life you offer me?" She held outher hands to him. "Tie me and see. "

There could be no mistaking the firmness of her resolve. Imbriehesitated and weakened. He turned to the breed woman questioningly. 

She said in the Indian tongue: "What do you look at me for? I've toldyou before that you're risking both our necks by taking her. The worldis full of skinny little pale-faced women, but you've only got one neck. Better leave her with the man. "

Imbrie shook his head slowly. 

The woman shrugged. "Well, if you got to have her, fix it to suityourself. " She ostentatiously went on with the packing. 

Imbrie looked sidewise at Clare with a kind of hungry pain in his sulleneyes. "I won't leave her, " he muttered. "I'll take them both. "

The woman flung up her hands in a passionate gesture. "Foolishness!" shecried. 

A new idea seemed to occur to Imbrie; he said in English: "I'll take theredbreast for my servant. Upstream work is no cinch. I'll make him trackus. It'll be a novelty to have a redbreast for a servant. "

Clare glanced anxiously at Stonor as if expecting an outbreak. 

Imbrie asked with intolerable insolence: "Will you be my servant, Redbreast?"

Clare's hands clenched, and she scowled at Imbrie like a littlefire-eater. 

Stonor answered calmly: "If I have to be. "

Clare's eyes darted to him full of relief and gratitude; she had notexpected so great a sacrifice. The brave lip trembled. 

Imbrie laughed. "Good!" he cried. "Redbreasts don't relish starving inthe bush any better than ordinary men!"

The breed woman, on the verge of an angry outburst, checked herself, andmerely shrugged again. She said quietly in her own tongue: "He thinkshe's going to escape. "

"Sure he does!" answered Imbrie, "and I'm the man who will prevent him. I'll keep the weapons in my own hands. "

True to his word he collected all the weapons in the outfit; three guns, the revolver and three knives. He gave the breed woman her own gun andher ammunition-belt, which she strapped round her; he kept his gun, andthe other two fire-arms he disabled by removing parts of the mechanism, which he put in his pocket. He stuck two knives in his belt, and gavethe woman the third, which she slipped into its customary resting-placein the top of her moccasin. Imbrie ordered Stonor to get up and strikeClare's tent. 

"He must be fed, " said Clare quickly. 

"Sure, I don't mind feeding him as long as he's going to earn it, " saidImbrie. 

Clare hastened to carry Stonor her untasted plate, but Imbrieintercepted her. "No more whispering, " he said, scowling. "Eat your ownbreakfast. The woman will feed him. "

In half an hour they were on their way back up the river. They allowedStonor to rest and recuperate in the dug-out until they came to thefirst rapid. Later, the policeman bent to the tracking-line with a goodwill. This was better luck than he had hoped for. His principal fear wasthat he might not be able to dissemble sufficiently to keep theirsuspicions lulled. He knew, of course, that if they should guess of whathe was thinking his life would not be worth a copper penny. Hisintuition told him that even though he was a prisoner, Clare was safefrom Imbrie while he was present, and he had determined to submitcheerfully to anything in order to keep alive. He only needed three orfour more days!

So, with a loop of the tracking-line over his shoulder, he ploddedthrough the ooze of the shore, and over the stones; waded out roundreefs, and plunged headlong through overhanging willows. Imbrie walkedbehind him with his gun over his arm. Clare lay on the baggage in thedug-out wistfully watching Stonor's back, and the breed woman steered. In the more sluggish reaches of the river, the men went aboard andpaddled. 

When they spelled in mid-morning Imbrie and the woman became involved ina discussion of which Stonor understood almost every word. They hadfinished eating, and all four were sitting in a row on a beach withgreat stones sticking up through the sand. Clare was at one end, Stonorat the other. They were giving Stonor a rest as they might have rested ahorse before putting him in harness again. 

The woman said impatiently: "How long are you going to keep up thisfoolishness?"

"What foolishness?" Imbrie said sullenly. 

"Letting this man live. He's your enemy and mine. He's not going toforget that I shot at him twice. He's got some scheme in his head rightnow. He's much too willing to work. "

"That's just women's talk. I know what I'm doing. I've got him justright because he's scared of losing the girl. "

"All right. Many times you ask me what to do. Sometimes you don't dowhat I say, and then you're sorry afterwards. I tell you this isfoolishness. You want the white-face girl and you let the man live toplease her! What sense is there in that? She won't take you as long ashe lives. "

"If I kill him she'll kill herself. "

"Wah! That's just a threat. She'll hold it over you as long as he lives. When he's dead she'll have to make the best of it. You'll have to killhim in the end. Why not do it now?"

"I know what I'm doing, " repeated Imbrie stubbornly. "I'm the masternow. Women turn naturally to the master. In a few days I'll put thiswhite man so low she'll despise him. "

The woman laughed. "You don't know much about women. The worse you treathim the crazier she'll be about him. And if she gets a knife, look out!"

"She won't get a knife. And if my way doesn't work I can always killhim. He's useful. We're getting up-stream faster than we would withouthim. "

"He's too willing to go up the river, I think. "

"There's no help for him up there, is there?"

"I don't know. You'd better do what I say. "

"Oh, shut up. Go and pack the grub. We'll start soon. "

The woman went to obey with her customary shrug. 

Stonor had much food for thought in this conversation. He marked withhigh satisfaction that the way the woman spoke did not for a momentsuggest that Imbrie had any rights over Clare, nor that he had everpossessed her in the past. Listen as he might, he could gain no clue tothe relationship between the two speakers. He hoped they might betraythemselves further later on. Meanwhile the situation was hazardous inthe extreme. There was no doubt the woman would soon wear Imbrie down. If he, Stonor, could only communicate with Clare it would help. 

Imbrie turned to Clare with what he meant for an ingratiating smile. "Isyour memory coming back at all?" he asked. 

In itself there was nothing offensive in the question, and Clare had thewit to see that nothing was to be gained by unnecessarily snubbing theman. "No, " she said simply. 

"But you're all right in every other way. There's nothing the matterwith you?"

She let it go at that. 

"You don't remember the days when I was courting you?"

"No, " she said with an idle air, "where was that?"

He saw the trap. "I'll tell you some other time. --Redbreast has longears. "

While Imbrie's attention was occupied by Clare a possible way of sendingher a message occurred to Stonor. The woman was busy at some paces'distance. Stonor was sitting on a flat stone with his feet in the sand. Carelessly picking up a stick, he commenced to make letters in the sand. Clare, whose eyes never left him for long, instantly became aware ofwhat he was doing; but so well did she cover her glances that Imbrietook no alarm. 

Stonor, printing a word at a time, and instantly rubbing it out with hisfoot, wrote: "Make out to scorn me. "

Meanwhile Imbrie was making agreeable conversation and Clare was leadinghim on sufficiently to keep him interested. Small as his success was, hewas charmed with it. Finally he rose regretfully. 

"Time to go, " he said. "Go get in your harness, Stonor. "

The trooper arose and slouched to the tracking-line with a hang-dog air. Clare's eyes followed him in well-assumed indignation at his supineness. 

"He'll make a good pack-horse yet, " said Imbrie with a laugh. 

"So it seems, " she said bitterly. 

They started. Imbrie, much encouraged by this little passage, continuedto bait Stonor at intervals during the afternoon. The policeman, fearfulof appearing to submit too suddenly, sometimes rebelled, but alwayssullenly gave in when Imbrie raised his gun. Stonor saw that, so far asthe man was concerned, he need have little fear of overdoing his part. Imbrie in his vanity was quite ready to believe that Clare was turningfrom Stonor to him. On the other hand, the breed woman was not at alldeceived. Her lip curled scornfully at all this by-play. 

Clare's glance at Stonor, keeping up what she had begun, progressed fromsurprise through indignation to open scorn. Meanwhile in the same ratioshe held herself less and less aloof from Imbrie. She, too, was carefulnot to overdo it. She made it clear to Imbrie that it would be a goodlong time yet before he could expect any positive favours from her. Shedid it so well that Stonor, though he had himself told her to act inthat manner, was tormented by the sight. After all, he was human. 

Once and once only during the day did Stonor's and Clare's glances meetunobserved by the others. It happened as the trooper was embarking inthe dug-out preparatory to paddling up a smooth reach. Imbrie and thewoman were both behind Clare, and she gave Stonor a deep look imploringhis forgiveness for the wrong she seemed to do him. It heartened himamazingly. Bending low as he laid the coiled rope in the bow, his lipsmerely shaped the words:

"Keep it up!"

So long and so hard did they work that day that they were able to campfor the night only a few miles short of the highest point they had yetreached on the river. The camping-place was a pleasant opening up on topof the bank, carpeted with pine-needles. The murmur of the pinesreminded Clare and Stonor of nights on the lower river--nights bothhappy and terrible, which now seemed years past. 

While supper was preparing Clare appeared out of her tent with some longstrips of cotton. She went unhesitatingly to where Stonor sat. 

Imbrie sprang up. "Keep away from him!" he snarled. 

Clare calmly sat down by Stonor. "I'm going to dress his wound, " shesaid. "I'd do the same for a dog. I don't want to speak to him. You cansit beside me while I work. "

Imbrie sullenly submitted. 

After supper it appeared from Imbrie's evil grin that he was promisinghimself a bit of fun with the policeman. But this time he was taking nochances. 

"I'm tired of toting this gun around; tie his hands, " he ordered thewoman. 

The night was chilly and they had a good fire on the edge of the bank. It lighted them weirdly as they sat in a semi-circle about it, the fourstrangely-assorted figures backed by the brown trunks of the pines, androofed by the high branches. Stonor safely tied up, Imbrie put down hisgun and lighted his pipe. He studied the policeman maliciously. He wasnot quite satisfied; even in Stonor's submission he felt a spirit thathe had not yet broken. 

"You policemen think pretty well of yourselves, don't you?" he said. 

Stonor, clearly perceiving the man's intention, was neverthelessundisturbed. This vermin was beneath him. His difficulty was to curb thesly desire to answer back. Imbrie gave him such priceless openings. Butthe part he had imposed on himself required that he seemed to be cowedby the man's crude attempts at wit. A seeming sullen silence was hisonly safe line. It required no little self-control. 

Imbrie went on: "The government sets you fellows up as a kind of bogey. For years they've been teaching the natives that a red-coat is a kind ofsacred monkey that all must bow down to. And you forget you're only aman like the rest of us. When you meet a man who isn't scared off by allthis hocus-pocus it comes pretty hard on you. You have to sing small, don't you, Redbreast?"

Silence from Stonor. 

"I say you have to sing small, Redbreast. "

"Just as you like. "

"I've heard ugly tales about the police, " Imbrie went on. "It seemsthey're not above turning a bit of profit out of their jobs when it'ssafe. Is that so, Stonor?"

"I hear you say it. "

"You yourself only took me up in the first place because you thoughtthere was a bit of a bribe in it, or a jug of whisky maybe. You thoughtI was a whisky-runner, but you couldn't prove it. I guess you're sorrynow that you ever fooled with me, aren't you, Redbreast?"

Stonor said nothing. 

"Answer me when I speak to you. Aren't you sorry now that you interferedwith me?"

This was a hard one. A vein stood out on Stonor's forehead. He thought:"I wouldn't say it for myself, but for her----!" Aloud he muttered:"Yes!"

Imbrie roared with laughter. "I'm putting the police in their place!" hecried. "I'm teaching them manners! I'll have him eating out of my handbefore I'm through with him!"

Clare, seeing the swollen vein, bled for Stonor, yet she gave him aglance of scorn, and the look she gave Imbrie caused him to rise as ifmoved by a spring, and cross to her. 

As he passed the breed woman he said in the Indian tongue: "Well, whowas right, old woman?"

He sat down beside Clare. 

The woman answered: "You fool! She's playing with you to save her lover. Any woman would do the same. "

"You lie!" said Imbrie, with a fatuous side-glance at Clare. "She'sbeginning to like me now. "

"Beginning to like you!" cried the woman scornfully. "Fool! Watch me!I'll show you how much she likes you!"

Springing to her feet, and stooping over, she drew the knife from hermoccasin. She turned on Stonor. "Redbreast!" she cried in English. "I'msick of looking at your ugly face. Here's where I spoil it!"

She raised the knife. Her eyes blazed. Stonor really thought his hourhad come. He scrambled to his feet. Clare, with a scream, ran betweenthem, and flung her arms around Stonor's neck. 

"You beast!" she cried over her shoulder to the woman. "A bound man!You'll have to strike him through me!"

The woman threw back her head and uttered a great, coarse laugh. Shecoolly returned the knife to her moccasin. "You see how much she likesyou, " she said to Imbrie. 

Clare, seeing how she had been tricked, unwound her arms from Stonor'sneck, and covered her face. It seemed too cruel that all their pains thelivelong day should go for nothing in a moment. Imbrie was scowling atthem hatefully. 

"Don't distress yourself, " whispered Stonor. "It couldn't be helped. Wegained a whole day by it anyway. I'll think of something else forto-morrow. "

"Keep clear of him!" cried Imbrie. "Go to your tent!"

"I won't!" Clare said. 

"Better go!" whispered Stonor. "I am safe for the present. "

She went slowly to her tent and disappeared. 

Stonor sat down again. Across the fire Imbrie scowled and pulled at hislip. The breed woman, returning to her place, had the good sense to holdher tongue. 

After a long while Imbrie said sullenly in the Indian tongue: "Well, you've got your way. You can kill him to-morrow. "

Stonor was a brave man, but a chill struck to his breast. 

"I kill him?" said the woman. "Why have I got to do all the dirty work?"

"What do you care? You've already tried twice. "

"Why don't you kill him yourself?"

"I'm not afraid of him. "

"Maybe not. With his hands tied. "

Imbrie's fist clenched. "Do you want me to beat you?"

The woman shrugged. 

"You know very well why I don't want to do it, " Imbrie went on. "It'snothing to you if the girl hates you. "

"Oh, that's why, eh? You're scared she'd turn from bloody hands! She'smade a fool of you, all right!"

"Never mind that. You do it to-morrow. "

"Why not to-night?"

"I won't have it done in her sight. To-morrow morning when we spell youmake some excuse to take him into the bush. There you shoot him or sticka knife in his back. I don't care so long as you make a job of it. Youcome back alone and make a story of how he tried to run away, see? ThenI'll beat you----"

"Beat me!" she cried indignantly. 

"Fool! I won't hurt you. I'll just act rough to you for a while, tillshe gets better. "

"That girl has made me plenty trouble these last two years. I wish I'dnever set eyes on her!"

"Forget it! Tie his feet together so he can't wander and go to bed now!"

 * * * * *

Mary Moosa's little mosquito-tent was still in Imbrie's outfit, but thewoman preferred to roll up in her blanket by the fire like a man. Soonthe two of them were sleeping as calmly as two children, and Stonor wasleft to his own thoughts. 

 * * * * *

It was a silent quartette that took to the river next day. Imbrie wassulky; it appeared that he no longer found any relish in gibing atStonor. Clare was pale and downcast. After an hour or so they came tothe rapids where Stonor had intercepted Imbrie and Clare, and thereafterthe river was new to them. Stonor gathered from their talk that theriver was new, too, to Imbrie and the woman, but that they had receivedinformation as to its course from Kakisa sources. 

For many miles after that the current ran smooth and slow, and theypaddled the dug-out; Stonor in the bow, Imbrie guarding him with thegun, Clare behind Imbrie, and the breed woman with the stern-paddle. Allwith their backs to each other and all silent. About ten o'clock theycame to the mouth of a little creek coming in at the left, and hereImbrie indicated they would spell. 

"So this is the spot designed for my murder, " thought Stonor, lookingover the ground with a natural interest. 

The little brook was deep and sluggish; its surface was powdered withtiny lilies and, at its edges, long grass trailed in the water. A clean, grassy bank sloped up gradually. Further back were white-stemmedaspen-trees gradually thickening into the forest proper. 

"Ideal place for a picnic, " thought Stonor grimly. As they went ashorehe perceived that the breed woman was somewhat agitated. She continuallywiped her forehead on her sleeve. This was somehow more reassuring thanher usual inhuman stolidity. Imbrie clearly was anxious, too, but notabout Stonor or what was going to happen to him. His eyes continuallysought Clare's face. 

The breed woman glanced inquiringly at Imbrie. He said in the Indiantongue: "We'll eat first. "

"So I have an hour's respite, " thought Stonor. 

None of them displayed much appetite. Stonor forced himself to eat. Imbrie glanced at him oddly from time to time. "He's sorry to see goodfood wasted, " thought the trooper. "Well, it won't be, if I can helpit!"

When they had finished the woman said in English with a very carelessair: "I'm going to see if I can get some fresh meat. "

"She means me, " thought Stonor. 

She got her gun and departed. Stonor was aware likewise of the knifesticking out of the top of her moccasin. Both Imbrie and the woman had aself-conscious air. A child could have seen that something was afoot. The woman walked off through the grass and was presently lost among thetrees. 

Imbrie commanded Stonor to wash the dishes. 

Stonor reflected that since they meant to kill him anyhow if they could, there was nothing to be gained by putting up with further indignities. 

"Wash them yourself, " he said coolly. 

Imbrie shrugged, but said no more. 

Pretty soon they heard a shot at no great distance. 

Stonor thought: "Now she'll come back and say she's got a bear or amoose, and they'll order me to go back with her and bring in the meat. Shall I go, or shall I refuse to go? If I refuse they're almost sure tosuspect that I understand their lingo; but if I go I may be able todisarm her. I'll go. "

Presently they saw her returning. "I've got a moose, " she said stolidly. 

Stonor smiled a grim inward smile. It was too simple to ask him tobelieve that she had walked into the bush and brought down a moosewithin five minutes with one shot. He knew very well that if there was afeast in prospect her face would be wreathed in smiles. He was carefulto betray nothing in his own face. 

Imbrie was a better actor. "Good work!" he cried. "Now we'll havesomething fit to eat. "

She said: "I want help to bring in the meat. "

"Stonor, go help her, " said Imbrie carelessly. 

The trooper got up with an indifferent air. 

"Martin, don't go!" Clare said involuntarily. 

"I'm not afraid of her, " Stonor said. 

The woman forced him to walk in advance of her across the grass. Thethought of her behind him with the gun ready made Stonor's skin prickleuncomfortably, but he reflected that she would certainly not shoot untilthey were hidden in the bush. 

 * * * * *

When they reached the edge of the bush he stopped and looked at her. "Which way?" he asked, with an innocent air. 

"You can follow the tracks, can't you?" said she. 

He saw that she was pale and perspiring freely. She moistened her lipsbefore she spoke. 

Half a dozen paces further on he stopped again. 

"Go on!" she said harshly. 

"Got to tie my moccasin, " he said, dropping on one knee and turning halfround, so that he could keep an eye on her. She gave a swift glance overher shoulder. They were not yet fully out of sight of the others. 

"Your moccasin is not untied, " she said suddenly. 

At the same moment Stonor, still crouching, sprang at her, taking careto keep under the gun. Grasping her knees, he flung her to the ground. He got the gun, but before he could raise it, she sprang at him from allfours like a cat, and clung to him with a passionate fury no man couldhave been capable of. Stonor was unable to shake her off withoutdropping the gun. Meanwhile she screamed for aid. 

Both Imbrie and Clare came running. Imbrie, circling round thestruggling pair, clubbed his gun and brought it down on Stonor's head. The trooper went to earth. He did not altogether lose consciousness. Thewoman, maddened, recovered her gun, and was for dispatching him on thespot, but Imbrie, thinking of Clare, prevented her. 

Stonor was soon able to rise, and to make his way back, albeit somewhatgroggily, to the creek. Clare wished to support him, but he stopped herwith a look. 

When they got back to their camp Imbrie demanded with seemingindignation: "What was the matter with you? What did you expect to gainby jumping on her?"

"What did she take me into the bush for?" countered Stonor. "To put abullet through me?"

Imbrie made a great parade of surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"She's tried twice already, hasn't she? I saw it in her eye. She saw it, too----" pointing to Clare. "You heard her warn me. She never shot amoose. That was too simple a trick. "

"I did shoot a moose, " said the woman sullenly. 

"Then why don't you bring some of it in and let's see it. You have yourknife to cut off as much as we can carry. "

She turned away with a discomposed face. 

"Oh, well, if you won't take the trouble to bring in the meat we'll gowithout it, " said Imbrie quickly. Stonor laughed. 

As they were making ready to start Stonor heard Imbrie say bitterly tothe woman, in their own tongue: "You made a pretty mess of that!"

"Well, do it yourself, then, " she snarled back. 

"Very well, I will. When I see a good chance. "

"This is only the 25th, " thought Stonor. "By hook or by crook I mustcontrive to keep alive a couple of days longer. "

Above this camping-place the character of the river changed again. Thebanks became steep and stony, and the rapids succeeded each other withonly a few hundred yards of smooth water between. Stonor became afixture in the tracking-line. He worked with a right good will, hopingto make himself so useful that they would not feel inclined to get ridof him. It was a slim chance, but the best that offered at the moment. Moreover, every mile that he put behind him brought him so much nearersuccour. 

That night in camp he had the satisfaction of hearing Imbrie say inanswer to a question from the woman:

"No, not to-night. All day he's been working like a slave to try and geton the good side of me. Well, let him work. I've no mind to break myback while I have him to work for me. According to the Kakisas we'llhave rapids now for a long way up. Let him pull us. "

So Stonor could allow himself to sleep with an easy mind for that night, anyway. 

The next two days were without special incident. Stonor lived frommoment to moment, his fate hanging on Imbrie's savage and irresponsibleimpulses. Fortunately for him, he was still able to inform himself fromthe talk of the two. Each day they broke camp, tracked up-stream, tracked and poled up the rapids, spelled and tracked again. In therapids it was the breed woman who had to help Stonor. Imbrie would standby smoking, with his gun over his arm. Stonor wondered at the woman'spatience. 

At the end of the second day they found another soft sandy beach to campon. Stonor was so weary he could scarcely remain awake long enough toeat. They all turned in immediately afterwards. Latterly Imbrie had beenforcing Stonor to lie close to him at night, and the end of the linethat bound Stonor's wrists was tied around Imbrie's arm. The breed womanlay on the other side of the fire, and Clare's tent was pitched beyondher. 

Stonor was awakened by a soft touch on his cheek. Having his nervesunder good control, he gave no start. Opening his eyes, he saw Clare'sface smiling adorably, not a foot from his own. At first he thought hewas dreaming, and lay scarcely daring to breathe, for fear ofdissipating the charming phantom. 

But the phantom spoke: "Martin, you looked so tired to-night it made mecry. I could not sleep. I had to come and speak to you. Did I do wrong?"

He feasted his tired eyes on her. How could he blame her? "Dangerous, "he whispered. "These breeds sleep like cats. "

"What's the difference? It's as bad as it can be already. "

He shook his head. "They have not ill-treated you. "

"I wouldn't mind if they did. It is terrible to see you work so hard, while I do nothing. Why do you work so hard for them?"

"I have hope of meeting help up the river. "

She smiled incredulously. Stonor, seeing her resigned to the worst, saidno more about his hopes. After all they might fail, and it would bebetter not to raise her hopes only to dash them. 

"Better go, " he urged. "Every little while through the night one or theother of these breeds wakes, sits up, looks around, and goes back tosleep again. "

"Are you glad I came, Martin?"

"Very glad. Go back to your tent, and we'll talk in fancy until we fallasleep again. "

 * * * * *

Stonor was awakened the next time by a loud, jeering laugh. It was fulldaylight. The breed woman was standing at his feet, pointing mockinglyto the tell-tale print of Clare's little body in the sand beside him. Ablinding rage filled Stonor at the implication of that coarse laugh--buthe was helpless. Imbrie started up, and Stonor attempted to roll over onthe depression--but Imbrie saw it, saw also the little tracks leadingaround behind the sleepers to Clare's tent. 

No sound escaped from Imbrie, but his smooth face turned hideous withrage; the lips everted over the clenched teeth, the ruddy skin livid andblotchy. He quickly untied the bond between him and Stonor. The woman, with a wicked smile, drew the knife out of her moccasin, and offered itto him. He eagerly snatched it up. Stonor's eyes were fixedunflinchingly on his face. He thought: "It has come!"

But at that moment Clare came out of her tent. Imbrie hid the knife andturned away. As he passed the breed woman Stonor heard him mutter:

"I'll fix him to-night!"

 * * * * *

That day as he trod the shore, bent under the tracking-line, Stonor hadplenty to occupy his mind. Over and over he made his calculations oftime and distance:

"This is the twenty-seventh. It was the fifteenth when I sent ToleGrampierre back to Enterprise. If he rode hard he'd get there about noonon the seventeenth. The steamboat isn't due to start up-stream untilthe twentieth, but Gaviller would surely let her go at once when he gotmy message. She'd only need to get wood aboard and steam up. She couldsteam night and day too, at this stage of water; she's done itbefore--that is, if they had anybody to relieve Mathews at the engine. There are plenty of pilots. Surely Gaviller would order her to steamnight and day when he read my letter! Even suppose they didn't get awayuntil the morning of the eighteenth: that would bring them to theCrossing by the twenty-second. 

"Lambert, I know, would not lose an hour in setting out over theprairie--just long enough to get horses together and swim them across. Ican depend on him. Nobody knows how far it is overland from the Crossingto the Swan River. Nobody's been that way. But the chances are it'sprairie land, and easy going. Say the rivers are about the same distanceapart up there, Lambert ought to reach the Swan on the twenty-fifth, orat the latest the twenty-sixth. That's only yesterday. But we must havemade two hundred or two hundred and fifty miles up-stream. The Swancertainly makes a straighter course than the Spirit. It must be lessthan a hundred miles from here to the spot where Lambert would hit thisstream. He could make seventy-five miles or more a day down-stream. Hewould work. If everything has gone well I might meet him to-day. 

"But things never go just the way you want them to. I must not count onit. Gaviller may have delayed. He's so careful of his precioussteamboat. Or she may have run on a bar. Or Lambert may have metunexpected difficulties. I must know what I'm going to do. Once my handsare tied to-night my goose is cooked. Shall I resist the woman when shetries to tie my hands? But Imbrie always stands beside her with the gun;that would simply mean being shot down before Clare's eyes. Shall I letthem bind me and take what comes?--No! I must put up a fight somehow!Suppose I make a break for it as soon as we land? If there happens to becover I may get away with it. Better be shot on the wing than sittingdown with my hands tied. And if I got clean away, Clare would know therewas still a chance. I'll make a break for it!"

He looked at the sky, the shining river and the shapely trees. "This maybe my last day on the old ball! Good old world too! You don't think whatit means until the time comes to say ta-ta to it all; sunny mornings, and starry nights, with the double trail of the Milky Way moseyingacross the sky. I've scarcely tasted life yet--mustn't think of that!Twenty-seven years old, and nothing done! If I could feel that I hadleft something solid behind me it would be easier to go. "

Pictures of his boyhood in the old Canadian city presented themselvesunasked; the maple-foliage, incredibly dense and verdant, the shabby, comfortable houses behind the trees, and the homely, happy-go-luckypeople who lived in the houses and sprayed their lawns on summerevenings; friendly people, like people everywhere prone to laughter andaverse to thought. "People are so foolish and likeable, it's amazing!"thought Stonor, visualizing his kind for the first. 

The sights and sounds and smells of the old town came thronging back;the school-bell with its flat clangour, exactly like no other bell onearth--it rang until five minutes before the hour, stopping with amuttering complaint, and you ran the rest of the way. There was theDominion Hotel, with a tar pavement in front that became semi-liquid onhot days; no resident of that town ever forgot the pungent smellcompounded of tar, stale beer, sawdust, and cabbage that greeted you inpassing. And the candy-store was next door; the butterscotch they soldthere!

How he used to get up early on summer mornings and, with his faithfulmongrel Jack, with the ridiculous curly tail, walk and run a mile to therailway-station to see the Transcontinental stop and pass on. How thesun shone down the empty streets before any one was up! Strange how hiswhole life seemed to be coloured by the newly-risen sun! And the longtrain with the mysterious, luxurious sleeping-cars, an occasionaltousled head at the window; lucky head, bound on a long journey!

"Well, I've journeyed some myself since then, " thought Stonor, "and Ihave a longer journey before me!"

They spelled at ten o'clock, and again at three. "The last lap!" thoughtStonor, as they took to the river after the second stop. All depended onthe spot Imbrie should choose for their next camp. Stonor studied thenature of the ground anxiously. The banks continued to rise steep andhigh almost from the water's edge. These slopes for the most part werewooded, but a wood on a steep stony slope does not offer good cover. 

"Small chance of scrambling over the top in such a place withoutstopping a bullet, " thought Stonor. "If we come to a more favourablespot should I suggest camping? No! for Imbrie would be sure to keep onout of pure obstinacy. I might have a chance if I zig-zagged up thehill. The worst part will be running away from Clare. Suppose she criesout or tries to follow. If I could warn her!"

But Imbrie was taking very good care that no communications passedbetween the two to-day. 

They came to a place where a limestone ridge made a rapid wilder thanany they had passed on the upper river, almost a cataract. Much time wasconsumed in dragging the dug-out over the shelves of rock alongside. Theridge made a sort of dam in the river; and above there was a longreach, smooth and sluggish. Imbrie ordered Stonor aboard to paddle, andthe trooper was not sorry for the change of exercise. 

The sun was dropping low now, and Stonor little by little gave up hopeof meeting help that day. In the course of the smooth reach they cameupon an island, quaintly shaped like a woman's hat, with a stony beachall round for a brim, a high green crown, and a clump of pines for anaigrette. In its greatest diameter it was less than a hundred feet. 

Coming abreast of the island, Imbrie, without saying anything in advanceof his intention, steered the dug-out so that she grounded on the beach. The others looked round at him in surprise. 

"We'll camp here, " he said curtly. 

Stonor's heart sank. An island! "It's early yet, " he said, with acareless air. 

"The dug-out's leaking, " said Imbrie. "I want to fix her before dark. "

"There's no gum on the island. "

"I have it with me. "

Imbrie said this with a meaning grin, and Stonor could not be sure butthat the man suspected his design of escaping. There was nothing for itbut to submit for the moment. If they attempted to bind him he would putup the best fight he could. If they left him free until dark he mightstill escape by swimming. 

They landed. The breed woman, as a matter of course, prepared to do allthe work, while Imbrie sat down with his pipe and his gun. He orderedStonor to sit near. The policeman obeyed, keeping himself on the _quivive_ for the first hostile move. Clare, merely to be doing something, put up her own little tent. The breed woman started preparing supper, and then, taking everything out of the dug-out, pulled it up on thestones, and turning it over applied the gum to the little crack that hadopened in the bottom. 

They supped as usual, Stonor being guarded by the woman while Imbrieate. Stonor and Clare were kept at a little distance from each other. There was nothing that they cared to say to each other within hearing oftheir jailors. Soon afterwards Clare went to her tent. Stonor watchedher disappear with a gripping pain at his heart, wondering if he wouldever see her again. "She might have looked her good-night, " he thoughtresentfully, even while better sense told him she had refrained fromlooking at him only because such indications of an understanding alwaysinfuriated Imbrie. 

The dusk was beginning to gather. Imbrie waited a little while, thensaid carelessly:

"Tie him up now. "

The woman went to get the piece of line she used for the purpose. Stonorgot warily to his feet. 

"What do you want to tie me up for?" he said, seeking to gain time. "I'mhelpless without weapons. You might let me have one night's comfortablesleep. I work hard enough for it. "

Imbrie's suspicions were instantly aroused by this changed attitude ofStonor's, who had always before indifferently submitted. He raised thegun threateningly. "Shut up!" he said. "Hold your hands behind you. "

The woman was approaching with the line. Stonor moved so as to bringhimself in a line between Imbrie and the woman. Out of the tail of hiseye he saw Clare at the door of her tent, anxiously watching. He countedon the fact that Imbrie would not shoot while she was looking on withoutstrong provocation. They were all down on the stony beach. Stonor keptedging closer to the water. 

Stonor still sought to parley. "What are you afraid of? You're botharmed. What could I do? And you sleep like cats. I couldn't move hand orfoot without waking you. I can't work all day, and sleep without beingable to stretch myself. "

While he talked he manoeuvred to keep himself between Imbrie and thewoman. Imbrie, to avoid the danger of hitting her, was obliged to keepcircling round Stonor. Finally Stonor got him between him and the water. This was the moment he was waiting for. His muscles were braced likesteel springs. Plunging at Imbrie, he got under the gun-barrel and borethe man back into the river. The gun was discharged harmlessly into theair. The beach sloped away sharply, and the force of his rush carriedthem both into three feet of water. They went under. Imbrie dropped hisgun, and clung to Stonor with the desperate, instinctive grip of thenon-swimmer. Like a ray of light the thought flashed through Stonor'sbrain: "I have him on equal terms now!"

As they went under he was aware of the woman rushing into the waterafter him with the knife raised. He twisted his body so that Imbrie cameuppermost and she was unable to strike. Stonor saw Clare running to thewater's edge. 

"Get her gun!" he cried. 

Clare swerved to where it stood leaning against the overturned dug-out. The woman turned back, but Clare secured the gun before she was out ofthe water, and dashed into the thick bushes with it. Meanwhile Stonordragged the struggling Imbrie into deeper water. They lost their footingand went under again. The woman, after a pause of agonized indecision, ran to the dug-out, and, righting it, pushed it into the water. 

Stonor, striking out as he could, carried his burden out beyond a man'sdepth. The current carried them slowly down. They were as much under thewater as on top, but Stonor cannily held his breath, while Imbriestruggled insanely. Stonor, with his knee against the other's chest, broke his strangle-hold, and got him turned over on his back. Imbrie'sstruggles began to weaken. 

Meanwhile the dug-out was bearing down on them. Stonor waited until itcame abreast and the woman swung her paddle to strike. Then letting goof Imbrie, he sank, and swimming under water, rose to the surface someyards distant. He saw that the woman had Imbrie by the hair. In thisposition it was impossible for her to wield her paddle, and the currentwas carrying her down. Stonor turned about and swam blithely back to theisland. 

Clare, still carrying the gun, came out of the bushes to meet him. Theyclasped hands. 

"I knew there was only one bullet, " she said. "I was afraid to fire atthe woman for fear of missing her. "

"You did right, " he said. 

Stonor found the gun that Imbrie had dropped in the water. From thebeach they watched to see what the breed woman would do. 

"When she gets near the rapids she'll either have to let go Imbrie or becarried over, " Stonor said grimly. 

But the woman proved to be not without her resources. Still with onehand clutched in Imbrie's hair, she contrived to wriggle out of theupper part of her dress. Out of this she made a sling, passing it underthe unconscious man's arms, and tying it to the thwart of the dug-out. She then paddled ashore and dragged the man out on the beach. There theysaw her stand looking at him helplessly. Save for the dug-out she wasabsolutely empty-handed, without so much as a match to start a firewith. 

Presently she loaded the inert body in the dug-out, and, getting inherself, came paddling back towards the island. Stonor grimly awaitedher, with the gun over his arm. The dusk was thickening, and Clare builtup the fire. 

When she came near, Stonor said, raising the gun: "Come no closer till Igive you leave. "

She raised her hands. "I give up, " she said apathetically. "I've got tohave fire for him, blankets. Maybe he is dead. "

"He's only half-drowned, " said Stonor. "I can bring him to if you dowhat I tell you. "

"What do you want?"

"Throw your ammunition-belt ashore, then your knife, and the two knivesthat Imbrie carries in his belt. "

She obeyed. Stonor gratefully buckled on the belt. She landed, andpermitted her hands to be bound. Stonor then pulled the dug-out out onthe stones, and turning it over rolled Imbrie on the bottom of it untilhe got most of the water out of him. Then, laying him on his back, afterhalf an hour's unremitting work, he succeeded in inducing respiration. Alittle colour returned to Imbrie's face, and in the end he opened hiseyes and looked stupidly around him. At these signs of returninganimation the enigma of a woman suddenly lowered her head and broke intoa dry hard sobbing. 

So intent were they upon the matter in hand they never thought oflooking out on the river. It was as dark now as it would be, and anywaythe glow of the fire blinded them to what lay outside its radius. Suddenly out of the murk came with stunning effect a deep-throated hail:

"Stonor, is that you?"

The policeman straightened like a man who received an electric shock. Agreat light broke in his face. 

"Lambert! Thank God!" he cried. 

Two clumsy little pot-bellied collapsible boats grounded on the stonesbelow their fire and, as it seemed to their confused senses, they wereimmediately surrounded by a whole crowd of friendly faces. Stonor wasaware, not of one red coat, but of three, and two natives besides. Therubicund face of his commanding officer, Major Egerton, "Patch-pants"Egerton, the best-loved man in the North, swam before his eyes. Somehowor other he contrived to salute. 

"I have the honour to turn over two prisoners, sir. This man who claimsto be Doctor Ernest Imbrie, and this woman, name unknown to me. "

"Good work, Sergeant!" Having returned his salute, the little Majorunbent, and offered Stonor his hand. 

"This is a surprise, sir, to see you, " said the latter. 

"I had just got to the Crossing on my rounds when your note came toLambert. So I came right on with him. " Major Egerton's glance took inStonor's bandaged skull and dripping clothes, the woman's bound hands, and Imbrie just returning to consciousness. "I judge you've been havinga strenuous time, " he remarked drily. 

"Somewhat, sir. "

"You shall tell me all about it, when we've settled down a bit. We hadalready camped for the night, when we saw the reflection of your fire, and came down to investigate. Introduce me to the lady. "

The little Major bowed to Clare in his best style. His face betrayed noconsciousness of the strangeness of the situation, in that while Dr. Imbrie was a prisoner, Mrs. Imbrie was obviously under Stonor'sprotection. He engaged her in conversation about the weather as if theyhad just met at a lawn fête. It was exactly what the shaken Clareneeded. 

Meanwhile Stonor slipped aside to his friends. "Lambert!" he cried, gripping his brother-sergeant's hand, "God knows your ugly phiz is abeautiful sight to my eyes! I knew I could depend on you! I knew it!"

Lambert silently clapped him on the back. He saw from Stonor's face whathe must have been through. 

Beyond Lambert Stonor caught sight of a gleaming smile on a dark face. "Tole!" he cried. "They brought you! How good it is to find one'sfriends!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE HEARING

They moved to a better camping-place on the mainland. Major Egertoncould rough it as well as any youngster in the service, but as a matterof principle he always carried a folding bed, table, and chair in hisoutfit. These simple articles made a great impression on the natives. When the Major's tent was pitched, and the table and chair set upinside, the effect of a court of justice was immediately created, evenin the remotest wilderness. 

Next morning they all gathered in his tent. The Major sat at the tablewith Coulter, his orderly and general factotum, sitting on a box at hisleft with pen and note-book before him. Stonor stood at the Major'sright. The two prisoners stood facing the table, with Lambert keeping aneye on them. Clare sat in the place of honour on the Major's cot againstthe side of the tent. Tole and Ancose squatted on their heels justinside the door. 

"I'll start with the woman, " said the Major. Addressing her directly, hesaid sternly: "It is my duty to tell you that anything you may say herecan be used against you later, and it is therefore your privilege torefuse to answer. At the same time a refusal to answer naturallysuggests the fear of incriminating yourself, so think well before yourefuse. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Ah, you speak good English. That simplifies matters. First, what isyour name?"

"Annie Alexander. "

"Married?"

"No, sir. "

"Age?"

"Forty-four. "

"Hm! You don't look it. What is your relation to the other prisonerhere?"

"No relation, just a friend. "

"Ah? Where do you come from?"

The woman hesitated. 

Imbrie murmured: "Winnipeg. "

"Be silent!" cried the Major. "Sergeant Lambert, take that man out, andkeep him out of earshot until I call you. "

It was done. 

"How long have you been in this country?"

"Since Spring--May. "

"How did you come in?"

"By way of Caribou Lake and the Crossing. "

"Alone?"

"Yes, sir. "

"By what means did you travel?"

"I got passage on a york boat up the rivers, and across Caribou Lake. From the lake a freighter took me on his load across the long portage tothe Crossing. "

"Ancose, " said the Major, "you watch the prisoner outside, and askSergeant Lambert to step here. "

Meanwhile he went on with his questions. "How did you travel from theCrossing?"

"I built a little raft and floated down the Spirit River to CarcajouPoint. "

Lambert came in. 

"Lambert, " said the Major, "this woman claims to have come over theportage to the Crossing in May with a freighter and to have built a raftthere and floated down the river. Can you verify her story?"

"No, sir, never saw her before. "

"Is it possible for her to have done such a thing?"

"Possible, sir, " said Lambert cautiously, "but not likely. It's part ofmy business to keep track of all who come and go. There are not enoughtravellers to make that difficult. Such an extraordinary thing as awoman travelling alone on a raft would have been the talk of thecountry. If I might ask her a question, sir----?"

The Major signed to him to do so. 

"What was the name of the freighter who brought you over the portage?"

"I don't know his whole name. Men called him Jack. "

Lambert shrugged. "There's many a Jack, sir. "

"Of course. Let it go for the present. " To the woman he said: "What wasyour object in making this long journey alone?"

"Doctor Imbrie wrote to me to come and live with him. He had nobody totake care of his house and all that. "

"I see. What do you mean by saying he was your friend?" The Major askedthis with an uneasy glance in Clare's direction. 

"Just my friend, " answered the woman, with a hint of defiance. "I tookcare of him when he was little. "

"Ah, his nurse. When did you get the letter from him?"

"In March. "

"Where was it sent from?"

"Fort Enterprise. "

"Sergeant Stonor, can you testify as to that?"

"I can testify that it is not true, sir. It was a matter of commonknowledge at the post that Doctor Imbrie neither received nor sent anyletters. We wondered at it. Furthermore, the only word received from himall winter was in January. "

The Major turned to the woman. "According to that you are telling anuntruth about the letter, " he said sternly. "Do you wish to change yourstatement?"

She sullenly shook her head. 

The Major shrugged and went on. "Was Doctor Imbrie waiting for you atCarcajou Point?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Why didn't you meet at Fort Enterprise, where there was a good trail toSwan River?"

"He didn't feel like explaining things to the white men there. He likesto keep to himself. "

"Where did you go from Carcajou Point?"

"We bought horses from the Beaver Indians and rode overland to SwanLake. "

"Bought horses?" said the Major quickly. "How did Doctor Imbrie get toCarcajou in the first place?"

She corrected herself. "I mean he bought extra horses for me, and forthe outfit. "

"And you rode to Swan Lake on your way back to his place?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Did you go to his place?"

"No, sir, I got sick at Swan Lake and he had to leave me. "

"But if you were sick you needed a doctor, didn't you?"

"I wasn't very sick, I just couldn't travel, that was all. "

"But why did he have to leave you?"

"He had business at his place. "

"Business? There was no one there but himself. "

The woman merely shrugged. 

Major Egerton waved his hand in Clare's direction. "Do you know thislady?"

"Yes, sir. It's Doctor Imbrie's wife. "

"How do you know that?"

"I saw them married. "

"Where was that?"

"I won't answer that at present. "

The Major turned to Clare apologetically. "Please excuse me if I mustask a painful question or two. "

Clare nodded reassuringly. 

"Why had Doctor Imbrie left his wife?"

The woman's eyes sparkled with resentment. "He didn't leave her. Sheleft him. She----"

"That will do!" ordered the Major. 

But the woman raised her voice. "She threw up the fact of his having redblood to him--though she knew it well enough when she married him. Hewas all cut up about it. That was why he came up here. "

The Major, slightly embarrassed, turned to Stonor. "Will you questionher?" he asked testily. "You are better informed as to the wholecircumstances. "

"If I might hear the man's story first, sir?"

"Very well. Send for him. What is the charge against the woman?"

"Shooting with intent to kill, sir. "

"Enter that, Coulter. Whom did she shoot at?"

"At me, sir. On two occasions. "

"Ah! An officer in the performance of his duty. Amend the charge, Coulter. Please relate the circumstances. "

Stonor did so. 

"Have you anything to say in regard to that?" the Major asked the woman. 

She shook her head. 

By this time Imbrie was again facing the tribunal. At Stonor's requestthe woman was allowed to remain in the tent during his examination. After stating the usual formula as to his rights, the Major startedquestioning him. 

"Your name?"

"Ernest Imbrie, M. D. "

"Age?"

"Twenty-six. "

"Place of birth?"

"Winnipeg. "

"Father's name?"

"John Imbrie. "

"His occupation?"

"Farmer. "

The Major raised his eyebrows. "In Winnipeg?"

"He lived off the income of his farms. "

"Ah! Strange I never heard the name in Winnipeg. Do you wish to give anyfurther information about your antecedents?"

"Not at present, sir. "

"You have Indian blood in your veins?"

"Yes, sir, my grandmother was an Indian. I never saw her. "

"How long have you been in this district?"

"A year, sir. "

"How did you come here?"

"I got employment with a crew of boatmen at Miwasa Landing. I travelledwith them as far as Great Buffalo Lake. There I bought a canoe from theIndians and came up the Swan River to the Great Falls and built me ashack. "

"You were alone then?"

"Yes, sir. "

"How did this woman come to join you?"

"I sent for her to keep my house for me. "

"How did you get word to her?"

Imbrie blandly evaded the trap. "I sent a letter out privately to bepassed along by the Indians--what they call moccasin telegraph. "

"Ah! Why did you choose that method?"

"Because I wished to keep my affairs to myself. I had heard of thecuriosity of the white men at Fort Enterprise concerning my movements, and I did not care to gratify it. "

"Very well. Now, when you started back with her, did she go home withyou?"

"No, sir. She was taken sick at Swan Lake, and I had to leave herthere. "

"How did you come to leave her if she was sick?"

"She was not very sick. Her leg swelled up and she couldn't travel, thatwas all. "

Stonor signed to the Major that he wished to ask a question, and theMajor bade him go ahead. 

"Tell us exactly what was the matter with her, as a doctor, I mean. "

"You wouldn't understand if I did tell you. "

The Major rapped smartly on the table. "Impudence will do you no good, my man! Answer the Sergeant's question!"

"I decline to do so. "

Stonor said: "I have established the point I wished to make, sir. Hecan't answer it. "

Major Egerton proceeded: "Well, why didn't you wait for her until shegot well?"

"I had to make a garden at home. "

"You travelled three hundred miles down the river and back again to makea garden!"

"We have to eat through the winter. "

"Stonor, was there a garden started at Imbrie's place?"

"Yes, sir, but it had been started weeks before. The potatoes werealready several inches high. "

Imbrie said: "I planted the potatoes before I left. "

"Well, leave the garden for the present. " The Major indicated Clare. "You know this lady?"

"I should hope so. "

"Confine your answers to plain statements, please. Who is she?"

"My wife. "

"Have you any proof of that?"

"She says so. She ought to know. "

The Major addressed Clare. "Is it true that you have said you were hiswife?"

"I cannot tell you of my own knowledge, sir. Sergeant Stonor has told methat before I lost my memory I told him I was Ernest Imbrie's wife. "

The Major bowed and returned his attention to Imbrie. "When and wherewere you married?"

"I decline to answer. "

The excellent Major, who was not noted for his patience with theevil-doer, turned an alarming colour, yet he still sought to reason withthe man. "The answer to that question could not possibly injure youunder any circumstances. "

"Just the same, I decline to answer. You said it was my right. "

With no little difficulty the Major still held himself in. "I amasking, " he said, "for information which will enable me to return thislady to her friends until her memory is restored. "

"I decline to give it, " said Imbrie hardily. His face expressed apleased vanity in being able, as he thought, to wield the whip-hand overthe red-coats. 

The little Major exploded. "You damned scoundrel!" he cried. "I'd liketo wring your neck!"

"Put that down, please, " Imbrie said to the clerk with ineffableconceit. 

The Major put his hands behind his back and stamped up and down the fourpaces that comprised the length of his tent. "Stonor, I wonder--I wonderthat you took the patience to bring him to last night!" he stammered. "Go on and question him if you want. I haven't the patience. "

"Very well, sir. Imbrie, when I was taking you and this lady back toFort Enterprise, why did you carry her off?"

"She was my wife. I wanted her. Anything strange in that?"

"No. But when we came to you at your place, why did you run away fromus?"

"I hadn't had a good look at her then. I thought it best to keep out ofthe way. "

"Why weren't you willing to come to the post and let the whole thing beexplained?"

Imbrie's face suddenly turned dark with rage. He burst out, scarcelycoherently: "I'll tell you that! And you can all digest it! A fat chanceI'd have had among you! A fat chance I have now of getting a fairhearing! If she came all this way to find me, it's clear she wanted tomake up, isn't it? Yet when she saw me, she turned away. She'd beentravelling with you too long. You'd put your spell on her. You saidshe'd lost her memory. Bunk! Looks more like hypnotism to me. You wantedher for yourself. That's the whole explanation of this case. You've gotnothing on me. You only want to railroad me so that the way will beclear for you with her. Why, when I was bound up they made love to eachother before my very face. Isn't that true?"

"I am not under examination just now, " said Stonor coldly. 

"Answer me as a man, isn't it true?"

"No, it's a damned lie!"

"Well, if it had been me, I would!" cried the little Major. 

Sergeant Lambert concealed a large smile behind his large hand. 

Stonor, outwardly unmoved, said: "May I ask the woman one more question, sir, before I lay a charge against the man?"

"Certainly. "

Stonor addressed the woman. "You say you are unmarried?"

"Yes. "

"What are you doing with a wedding-ring?"

"It's my mother's ring. She gave it to me when she died. "

"Tole, " said Stonor, "take that ring off and hand it to me. " To theMajor he added in explanation: "Wedding-rings usually have the initialsof the contracting parties and the date. "

"Of course!"

The ring was removed and handed to Stonor. 

Examining it he said: "There is an inscription here, sir. It is: 'J. I. To A. A. , March 3rd, 1886. ' It stands to reason this woman's mother wasmarried long before 1886. "

"She was married twice, " muttered the woman. 

Stonor laughed. 

"What do you make of it, Sergeant?" asked the Major. 

"John Imbrie to Annie Alexander. "

"Then you suspect----?"

"That this woman is the man's mother, sir. It first occurred to me lastnight. "

"By George! there is a certain likeness. "

All those in the tent stared at the two prisoners in astonishment. Thecouple bore it with sullen inscrutability. 

"I am now ready to make a charge against the man, sir. "

The Major sat down. "What is the charge?"

"Murder. "

Imbrie must have had this possibility in mind, for his face neverchanged a muscle. The woman, however, was frankly taken by surprise. Sheflung up her manacled hands involuntarily; a sharp cry escaped her. 

"It's a lie!"

"Whom did he murder?"

"A man unknown to me, sir. "

"Where was the deed committed?"

"At or near the shack above the Great Falls. "

The woman's inscrutability was gone. She watched Stonor and waited forhis evidence in an agony of apprehension. 

"Did you find the body?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Under what circumstances?"

"It had been thrown in the rapids, sir, in the expectation that it wouldbe carried over the falls. Instead, however, it lodged in a log-jamabove the falls. As I was walking along the shore I saw a foot stickingout of the water. I brought the body ashore----"

"You brought the body ashore--out of the rapids above the falls----?"

"Yes, sir. A woman I had with me, Mary Moosa, helped me. "

"Describe the victim. "

"A young man, sir, that is to say, under thirty. In stature about thesame as the prisoner, and of the same complexion. What remained of hisclothes suggested a man of refinement. "

"But his face?"

"It was unrecognizable, sir. "

A dreadful low cry broke from the half-breed woman. Her manacled handswent to her face, her body rocked forward from the waist. 

The man rapped out a command to her in the Indian tongue to get a gripon herself. She tried to obey, straightening up, and taking down herhands. Her face showed a ghastly yellow pallor. 

"What proof have you of murder?" asked the Major. 

"There was no water in the dead man's lungs, sir, showing that he wasdead before his body entered the water. There was a bullet-hole throughhis heart. I found the bullet itself lodged in the front of his spine. It was thirty-eight calibre, a revolver bullet. This man carried athirty-eight revolver. I took it from him. I sent revolver and bulletout by Tole Grampierre. "

Lambert spoke up: "They are in my possession, sir. "

The breed woman seemed about to collapse. Imbrie, who had given no signof being affected by Stonor's recital, now said with a more conciliatoryair than he had yet shown:

"If you please, sir, she is overcome by the trooper's horrible story. Will you let her go outside for a moment to recover herself?"

"Very well, " said the good-natured Major, "watch her, Lambert. "

As the woman passed him Imbrie whispered to her in the Indian tongue:"Throw your locket in the river. "

Stonor, on the alert for a trick of some kind, overheard. "No, youdon't!" he said, stepping forward. 

The woman made a sudden dive for the door, but Lambert seized her. Shestruggled like a mad thing, but the tall sergeant's arms closed aroundher like a vice. Meanwhile Stonor essayed to unclasp the chain aroundher neck. The two breeds guarded Imbrie to keep him from interfering. 

Stonor got the locket off at last, and opened it with his thumb nail. The woman suddenly ceased to struggle, and sagged in Lambert's arms. Anexclamation escaped from Stonor, and he glanced sharply into Imbrie'sface. Within the locket on one side was a tinted photograph of the headsof two little boys, oddly alike. On the other side was an inscription inthe neat Spencerian characters of twenty years before: "Ernest andWilliam Imbrie, "--and a date. 

Stonor handed the locket over to the Major without speaking. "Ha!" criedthe latter. "So that is the explanation. There were two of them!"

CHAPTER XVIII

A LETTER FROM MAJOR EGERTON TO HIS FRIEND ARTHUR DONCOURT, ESQ. 

MY DEAR DONCOURT:

You ask me to tell you some of the circumstances underlying the Imbriemurder case of which you have read the account in the annual report ofthe R. N. W. M. P. Just published. You are right in supposing that a strangeand moving tale is hidden behind the cold and formal phraseology of thereport. 

The first Imbrie was the Reverend Ernest, who went as a missionary tothe Sikannis Indians away back in '79. Up to that time these Indianswere absolutely uncivilized, and bore a reputation for savage cruelty. Isuppose that was what stimulated the good man's zeal. He left a saintlytradition behind him. The Sikannis live away up the corner of BritishColumbia, on the head-waters of the Stanley River, one of the mainbranches of the Spirit River. The Spirit River, as you may know, riseswest of the Rocky Mountains and breaks through. There is not a moreremote spot this side the Arctic Circle, nor one more difficult ofaccess. 

The missionary brought with him his son, John Imbrie, a boy justapproaching manhood. Very likely the danger of bringing up a boyabsolutely cut off from the women of his race never occurred to thefather. The inevitable happened. The boy fell in love with a handsomehalf-breed girl, the daughter of a wandering prospector and a Sikannisquaw, and married her out of hand. The heartbroken father was himselfcompelled to perform the ceremony. This was in 1886. 

The Imbries were so far cut off from their kind that in time they wereforgotten. The missionary supported himself by farming in a small wayand trading his surplus products with the Indians. John turned out to bea good farmer and they prospered. Their farm was the last outpost ofagriculture in that direction. From the time he went in with his fatherJohn did not see the outside world again until 1889, when he took hiswife and babies out, with a vain hope, I think, of trying to educate thewoman. Most of these marriages have tragic results, and this was noexception. During all the years in her husband's house this womanresisted every civilizing influence, except that she learned to deckherself out like a white woman. 

She bore her husband twin sons, who were christened Ernest and William. They bore a strong resemblance to each other, but as they began todevelop it appeared, as is so often the case in these mixed families, that Ernest had a white man's nature, and William a red man's. When thetime came they were sent out to Winnipeg to school, but William, true tothe savage nature, sickened in civilised surroundings, and had to besent home. On the other hand, Ernest proved to be a sufficiently aptscholar, and went on through school and college. During the whole periodbetween his thirteenth and his twenty-fourth year he was only home twoor three times. William remained at home and grew up in ignorance. JohnImbrie, the father, I gather, was a worthy man, but somewhat weak in hisfamily relations. 

Ernest went on to a medical college with the idea of practising amongthe Sikannis, who had no doctor. During his second year his father died, long before he could reach him, of course. He remained outside until hegot his diploma. Meanwhile his mother and brother quickly relapsed intoa state of savagery. They "pitched around" with the Indians, and thefarm which had been so painstakingly hewn out of the wilderness by thetwo preceding generations grew up in weeds. 

Ernest had a painful homecoming, I expect. However, he patiently set towork to restore his father's work. He managed to persuade his mother andbrother to return and live in white man's fashion, but they made hislife a hell for him, according to all accounts. They were insanelyjealous of his superior attainments. Neither did the Sikannis welcomeDoctor Ernest's ministrations. Since the death of the missionary theyhad been gradually slipping back into their ignorant ways, and now theyinstinctively took the part of the mother against the educated son. Onecan imagine what a dreary life the young medico lived among thesesavages. He has been described to me as a charming fellow, modest, kindly and plucky. And, by the way, I have not mentioned that theseyoung fellows were uncommonly good-looking. William, or, as the Indianssay, Hooliam, was one of the handsomest natives I ever saw. 

Meanwhile that remote country was being talked about outside on accountof the gold deposits along the upper reaches of the Stanley--largelymythically I believe. However that may be, prospectors began to stragglein, and in the summer of the year following Ernest's return fromcollege, the government sent in a surveyor, one Frank Starling, tosurvey the claims, and adjust disputes. Starling brought with him hisdaughter Clare, a young lady of adventurous disposition. 

Both the Imbrie boys fell in love with her according to their natures, thus further complicating the situation. Hooliam, the ignorant savage, could not aspire to her hand, of course, but the young doctor courtedher, and she looked kindly on him. I do not consider that she was everin love with him, though apart from the dark strain he was worthy of itas men go, a manly fellow!--but it was the hardness of his lot thattouched her heart. Like many a good woman before her, she was carriedaway by compassion for the dogged youth struggling against such hopelessodds. 

The father completed his work and took her out, and Ernest Imbriefollowed them. They were married in the early spring at Fort Edward onthe Campbell River, where the Starlings wintered. Ernest carried hisbride back by canoe, hundreds of miles through the wilderness. 

Their happiness, if indeed they were ever happy, was of brief duration. Whichever way you look at it, the situation was impossible. Ernest'smother, the breed woman, acted like a fiend incarnate, I have been told, and I can quite believe it, having witnessed some of her subsequentperformances. Then there was the brother-in-law always hanging aroundthe house, nursing his evil passion for his brother's wife. And in thebackground the ignorant, unfriendly Indians. 

The catastrophe was precipitated by a gross insult offered to the girlby her husband's brother. He broke into her room one night impudentlyassuming to masquerade as her husband. Her husband saved her from him, but in the shock to her nerves she experienced a revulsion against thelot of them--and small wonder!

Her husband of his own free will took her back to her father. That's oneof the finest things in the story, for there's no question but that heloved her desperately. The loss of her broke his spirit, which hadendured so much. He never went back home. He felt, poor fellow, as if hewere cast out alike by reds and whites, and his instinct was to find aplace where he could bury himself far from all humankind. 

He was next heard of at Miwasa landing a thousand miles away, acrossthe mountains. Here he got employment with a york boat crew andtravelled with them down-stream some hundreds of miles north to GreatBuffalo Lake. Here he obtained a canoe from the Indians, and, with asmall store of grub, set off on his own. He made his way up the SwanRiver, an unexplored stream emptying into Great Buffalo Lake, as far asthe Great Falls, and there he built himself a shack. 

He could hardly have found a spot better suited to his purpose. No whiteman so far as known had ever visited those falls, and even the Indiansavoid the neighbourhood for superstitious reasons. But even here hecould not quite cut himself off from his kind. An epidemic of measlesbroke out among the Kakisa Indians up the river from him, and out ofpure humanity he went among them and cured them. These Indians weregrateful, strange to say; they almost deified the white man who hadappeared so strangely in their country. 

Meanwhile the wrong she had done him began to prey on his wife's mind. She could not rest under the thought that she had wrecked hisusefulness. Ernest Imbrie had, with the idea of keeping his mind fromrusting out in solitude, ordered certain papers and books sent to him atFort Enterprise. His wife learned of this address through his medicalcollege, and in the spring of the year following her marriage, that isto say the spring of the year just past, she set off in search of himwithout saying anything to anybody of her intention. 

She and her father were still at Fort Edward--have I said that the girlhad no mother?--and Hooliam Imbrie had been there, too, during thewinter, not daring to approach the girl precisely, but just hangingaround the neighbourhood. One can't help feeling for the poor wretch, bad as he was, he was hard-hit, too. He bribed a native servant to showhim the letter giving his brother's address, and when the girl set off, he instantly guessed her errand, and determined to prevent theirmeeting. 

Now it is only a short distance from Fort Edward over the height of landto the source of the main southerly branch of the Spirit, and Hooliamwas therefore able to proceed direct to Fort Enterprise by canoe (ajourney of more than a thousand miles), pausing only to go up theStanley to pick up his mother, who was ripe for such an adventure. AtCarcajou Point, when they had almost reached Enterprise, they heard thelegend of the White Medicine Man off on the unknown Swan River, and theydecided to avoid Enterprise and hit straight across the prairie. 

Meanwhile the girl was obliged to make a long detour south to therailway, then across the mountains and north again by all sorts ofconveyances, with many delays. So Hooliam and his mother arrived a fewweeks before her, but they in turn were delayed at Swan Lake by thewoman's illness. 

You have read a transcript of the statements of this precious pair atthe hearing before me. Read it again, and observe the ingenious web oftruth and falsehood. For instance, it was true the woman fell sick atSwan Lake, and Hooliam after waiting awhile for her, finally went downthe river without her--only a few days in advance of Sergeant Stonor andErnest Imbrie's wife. As soon as Hooliam reached Swan Lake he began tomeet Indians who had seen his brother, and thereafter he was alwayshailed among them as the White Medicine Man. The Indians never troubledto explain to themselves how he had got to Swan Lake, because theyascribed magical powers to him anyway. 

What happened between the brothers when they met will never be known forcertain. Hooliam swears that he did not intend to kill Ernest, but thatthe deed was done in self-defence during a quarrel. However that maybe, Ernest was shot through the heart with a bullet from Hooliam's gun, and his body cast in the river. 

You have read the rest of the story; how Stonor arrived with Ernest'swife, and how, at the shock of beholding her husband's body, the poorgirl lost her memory. How Hooliam sought to escape up-stream, andStonor's confusion when he was told by an Indian that the White MedicineMan was still alive. How Hooliam kidnapped the girl from Stonor, andtried to win back to the mountains and his own country by way of theunexplored river. 

We established the fact that Hooliam did not tell his mother what hadhappened at the Great Falls. She thought that Hooliam had found Ernestgone still further north. You can see at the hearing how when Stonorfirst told of the murder, in her horror at the discovery that onebrother had killed the other the truth finally came out. Though she hadalways taken Hooliam's part she could not altogether deny her feelingfor the other son. 

Well, that's about all. I consider that they got off easily; Hooliamwith twenty years, and the woman with half that sentence; but in theman's case it was impossible to prove that the murder was a deliberateone, and though the woman certainly did her best to put Stonor out ofthe way, as it happened he escaped. 

You ask about the Indian woman, Mary Moosa, who served Stonor and Mrs. Imbrie so faithfully. We overtook her at Swan Lake on the way out. Soshe did not starve to death on the river, but recovered from her wound. 

When we got out as far as Caribou Lake we met Mrs. Imbrie's distractedfather coming in search of her. The meeting between them was veryaffecting. I am happy to say that the young lady has since recoveredher memory entirely, and at the last account was very well. 

You are curious to know what kind of fellow Stonor is. I can onlyanswer, an ornament to the service. Simple, manly and dependable as atrooper ought to be. With a splendid strong body and a good wit. Out ofsuch as he the glorious tradition of our force was built. They arebecoming more difficult to get, I am sorry to say. I had long had my eyeon him, and this affair settled it. I have recommended him for acommission. He is a man of good birth and education. Moreover I saw thatif we didn't commission him we'd lose him; for he wants to get married. As a result of the terrible trials they faced together he and ErnestImbrie's widow have conceived a deep affection for each other. Enlistedmen are not allowed to marry. They make a fine pair, Doncourt. It makesan old fellow sort of happy and weepy to see them together. 

Stonor is now at the Officers' School at General Headquarters, and if hepasses his examinations will be commissioned in the summer. 

We'll talk further about this interesting case when good fortune bringsus together again. In the meantime, my dear Doncourt, Yours faithfully, FRANK EGERTON. 

EPILOGUE

In a bare and spotless company-room in headquarters in Regina eightuneasy troopers in fatigue uniform were waiting. Down one side of theroom a row of tall windows looked out on the brown parade-ground, andbeyond the buildings on the other side they could see a longTranscontinental train slowly gathering way up the westward grade. 

"Hey, boys!" cried one. "How'd you like to be aboard her with yourshoulder-straps and spurs?"

They cast unfriendly glances at the speaker and snorted. 

"Don't try to be an ass, Carter, " said one. "It doesn't require theeffort. "

They evinced their nervousness in characteristic ways. Several werepolishing bits of brass already dazzling; one sat voraciously chewinggum and staring into vacancy; one paced up and down like a caged animal;another tried to pick a quarrel with his mates, and the eighth, SergeantStonor--the hero of Swan River they called him when they wished to annoyhim--sat in a corner writing a letter. 

To the eight entered a hardened sergeant-major, purpled-jowled andsoldierly. All eight pairs of eyes sprang to his face in a kind of agonyof suspense. He twirled his moustache and a wicked, dancing lightappeared in his little blue eyes. 

"You're a nice set of duffers!" he rasped. "Blockheads all eight of you. Why they ever sent you down beats me. I've seen some rum lots, but neveryour equal. Flunked, every man of you!"

The eight pairs of eyes were cast down. Nobody said anything. Each wasthinking: "So that dream is over. I mustn't let anything on before theothers": those who were polishing brass gave an extra twirl to thechamois. 

Stonor, suddenly suspicious, narrowly searched the sergeant-major'sface. "Fellows, he's joshing!" he cried. "It isn't possible that everyone of us has flunked! It isn't reasonable!"

The sergeant-major roared with laughter. "Wonderful penetration, Sherlock! When I saw your faces I couldn't help it. You were asking forit. All passed! That's straight. Congrats!" He passed on down thecorridor. 

There was a silence in the company-room. They looked shyly at each otherto see how the news was being taken. Each felt a sudden warmth of hearttowards all his mates. All of them displayed an elaborate and perfectlytransparent assumption of indifference. Stonor added a postscript to hisletter, and sedately folded it. 

Then speech came, at first softly. "Damn old Huggins, anyway. Almostgave me heart-failure!. . . Wot t'hell, Bill! Poor old Hugs, it was hislast chance. Sure, we'll have him where we want him now. . . . Think ofbeing able to call Hugs down!. . . Lordy, Lordy, am I awake!"

Suddenly the unnatural tension broke, and a long-limbed trooper jumpedto his feet with his arms in the air. "Boys! Are you dumb! We've passed!We've got the straps! All together now, Mumbo-Jumbo!"

They marched around the room with their hands on each other's shoulders, singing:

 "For I've got rings on my fingers And bells on my toes; Elephants to ride upon----"

In a little house in Vancouver, embowered in such greenery as only themild, moist airs of Puget Sound can produce, a young woman sat in herdrawing-room regarding a letter she had just read with a highlydissatisfied air. It was a pretty little room, not rich nor fussy, butexpressing the charm of an individual woman no less than the clothes shewore. 

To the mistress entered the maid, to wit, a matronly Indian woman withan intelligent face. She looked from her mistress' face to the letter, and back to her mistress again. When the latter made no offer to speakshe said, for she was a privileged person:

"You hear from Stonor?"

Clare nodded. 

"He not pass his 'xamination, I guess?"

"Certainly he has passed!" said Clare sharply. "If anybody can passtheir examinations he can. "

"Why you look so sorry then?"

"Oh--nothing. I didn't expect him to write it. A five-word postscript atthe end of a matter-of-fact letter. "

"Maybe he couldn't get leave. "

"He said he'd get leave if he passed. "

"Maybe he comin' anyhow. "

"He never says a word about coming. "

"You ask him to come?"

"Of course not!"

"Don't you want him come?"

"I don't know whether I do or not. "

Mary looked perplexed. 

Clare burst out, "I can't ask him. He'd feel obliged to come. A man--manlike that anyway, would feel after what we've been through together thatI had a claim on him. Well, I don't want him to come out of a sense ofduty. Don't you understand?"

Mary shook her head. "If I want something I ask for it. "

"It's not so simple as all that!"

"Maybe he think he not wanted here. "

"A man's supposed to take that chance. "

"Awful long way to come on a chance, " said Mary. "Maybe I write to him. "

Clare jumped up. "Don't you dare!" she cried. "If I thought for amoment--if I thought he had been _brought_, I should be perfectlyhateful to him. I couldn't help myself--Is that a motor at the gate?"

"Yes, Miss, a taxi-cab. "

"Stopping here?"

"Yes, Miss, "--with absolute calm: "Stonor is gettin' out. "

"What!--Oh, Mary!--It can't be!--It is!"

A bell rang. 

"Oh, Mary! What shall I do? Don't go to the door! Let him wait a minute. Let me think what I must do. Let me get upstairs!"

 * * * * *

Stonor got up and sat down, and got up again. He walked to the windowand back to the door. He listened for sounds in the house, and then wentback to his chair again. He heard a sound overhead and sprang to thedoor once more. He saw her on the stairs, and retreated back into theroom. She came down with maddening deliberation, step by step. She didnot look through the door, but paused a second to straighten a picturethat hung askew on the wall. Stonor's heart was beating like atrip-hammer. 

She came into the room smiling in friendly fashion with a little gush ofspeech--but her eyes did not quite meet his. 

"Well, Martin! Congratulations! I just got your letter this morning. Ididn't expect you to follow so soon. So it's Inspector Stonor now, eh?Very becoming uniform, sir! Was the examination difficult? You must tellme all about it. I suppose you are just off the train. What kind of atrip did you have? Sit down. "

He was a little flabbergasted by her easy flow of speech. "I don't wantto sit down, " he muttered huskily. He was staring at her from a whiteface. 

She sat; glanced out of the window, glanced here and there about theroom, and rattled on: "Haven't we got a jolly little place here? But Iexpect we'll be ordered on directly. Mary and I were talking about youthe moment you rang the bell. Mary is so good to me, but her heart isalready turning to Fort Enterprise and her children, I'm afraid. "

He found his tongue at last. "Clare, don't!" he cried brokenly. "Ididn't come eight hundred miles to hear you make parlour conversation. What's the matter? What have I done? If you've changed towards me tellme so plainly, and let me get out. I can't stand this!"

Panic seized her. "I must see about lunch. Excuse me just a moment, " shesaid, making for the door. 

He caught her as she tried to pass. "Damn lunch! Look me in the eye, woman!"

She relaxed. Her eyes crept imploringly up to his. "Bear!" shewhispered. "You might at least have given me a moment's respite!--Oh, Ilove you! I love you! I love you!"

 THE END

[Transcriber's Note: The following changes have been made from theoriginal text:

 Pg. 27: heart-strings --> heartstrings (. . . Plucked at his heartstrings with a . . . ) Pg. 44: strain . . . --> strain. . . . (I've been under a strain. . . . ) Pg. 54: bambye --> bam-bye (. . . But bam-bye he rise up again . . . ) Pg. 85: storeroom --> store-room (. . . A work-room and store-room. ) Pg. 85: Snow-shoes --> Snowshoes (Snowshoes, roughly-fashioned fur garments . . . ) Pg. 105: backwater --> back-water (. . . Out of the back-water alongshore . . . ) Pg. 105: along-shore --> alongshore (. . . Out of the back-water alongshore . . . ) Pg. 133: redskin --> red-skin (Some red-skin mumbo-jumbo. ) Pg. 172: horseflesh --> horse-flesh (. . . Horse-flesh, fresh into the bargain. ) Pg. 174: singlehanded --> single-handed (. . . Brave him single-handed . . . ) Pg. 219: get's --> gets (And if she gets a knife . . . ) Pg. 256: headwaters --> head-waters (. . . On the head-waters of the Stanley River . . . ) Pg. 260: downstream --> down-stream (. . . Travelled with them down-stream . . . ) Pg. 267: hunk --> hung (. . . Picture that hung askew . . . )]