up the rapids in time to view the last swift quarter of the canoe's descent, Judith in the bow, motionless, a rifle across her knees, in the stern an Indian guide kneeling and fighting the waters with scarcely perceptible effort in contrast with Alan's supreme struggles. Like a living thing the canoe seemed to gather itself together, it hurtled the eddy in a bound, took the still water with a mighty splash, and shot downstream at diminished speed.
Judith lifted her rifle and brought it to bear— upon her sister. With a cry of horror, Alan flung himself before Rose. For a breathless instant the woman in the canoe stared along the sights, then lowered her weapon and spoke to the guide, who instantly began to ply a brisk paddle. The canoe sped on and vanished round the bend.
"Why, in the name of heaven, why?" asked Alan, amazed.
The girl said dully: "Don't you know?" And when he shook his head. "Her guide told mine you had saved her life on the dam at Spirit Lake. Now do you see?"
His countenance was blank: "Gratitude?"
"Not gratitude alone, but something more terrible. … Not that I can blame her. … But come, if we strike through here we shall, I think, pick up a trail that will bring us to Black Beaver settlement by dark."
