had revealed; in the same
breath Pierre Couchee's words rang in his ears--"It is death--worse
than death--for her--"

Was Jeanne the first victim of that diabolical scheme to awaken the
wrath of the northland? In the madness which possessed him now Philip
shoved out his canoe while there was still danger of discovery.
Fortunately none of the pursued glanced back, and a turn in the channel
soon hid them from view. Philip had recovered his self-possession by
the time he reached the turn. He assured himself that Jeanne was
unharmed as yet, and that when he saw her she had probably fainted from
excitement and terror. Her fate still lay before her, somewhere in the
deep and undisturbed forests up the Churchill. His one hope was to
remain undiscovered and to rescue her at the last moment when she was
taken ashore by her captors.

He followed, close up against the reeds, never trusting himself out of
the shadows. After a little he heard voices, and a second canoe
appeared. There was a short pause, and the two canoes continued side by
side up the channel. A quarter of an hour brought both the pursuers and
the pursued into the main stream, which lay in black gloom between
forest walls that cut out all light but the shimmer of the stars.

No longer could Philip see those ahead of him, but he guided himself by
occasional voices and the dip of paddles. At times, when the stream
narrowed and the forest walls gave him deeper shelter, he drew
perilously near with the hope of overhearing what was said, but he
caught only an occasional word or two. He listened in vain for Jeanne's
voice. Once he heard her name spoken, and it was followed by a low
laugh from some one in the canoe that had waited at the mouth of the
Churchill. A dozen times during the first half-hour after they entered
the main stream Philip heard this same laughing voice.

After a time there fell a silence upon those ahead. No sound rose above
the steady dip of paddles, and the speed of the two canoes increased.
Suddenly, from far up the river, there came a voice, faintly at first,
but growing steadily louder, singing one of the wild half-breed songs
of the forest. The voice broke the silence of those in the canoes. They
ceased paddling, and Philip stopped. He heard low words, and after a
few moments the paddling was resumed, and the canoes turned in toward
the shore. Philip followed their movement, dropping fifty yards farther
down the stream, and thrust big birch-b