ng beam across the
river. She could see for some distance and not far in front the water
was furrowed and marked by lines of foam. The stream ran very fast and
the throbbing swelled into a deep, sullen roar. There was a smell of
burning, and now and then a trail of smoke drifted out from the bank,
beyond which a red glow glimmered against the sky. It was like this, she
thought, on that other evening when her father returned from his last
journey, but the melancholy she had felt had given way to a strange
emotional excitement. Somehow she knew the pilgrimage she had made for
his sake would end as she had hoped.

For all that, she set her lips and grasped the side of the canoe when
they came to the top of the rapid. Spray that looked like steam rolled
across the water, blurring the tops of the crested waves that ran back
as far as one could see, and here and there in the smooth black patches
a wedge of foam boiled behind a rock. Outside the furious mid-stream
rush of the current, dark eddies revolved in angry circles and their
backwash weltered along the bank. Thirlwell seemed to be steering for
this belt and Agatha thought he meant to run down through the slack. As
they swerved towards the rocks she looked round sharply, for there was a
shout from the canoe astern--

"_Voici qui ven!_"

An indistinct figure scrambled along the rough bank, turning and
twisting among the driftwood and boulders. For the most part, the bank
was in shadow, but in places where the trees were not so thick the
moonlight pierced the gloom.

"But he run!" exclaimed the _Metis_ in Thirlwell's canoe. "Lak' caribou,
_vent' a terre_."

"_Pren' garde!_" said Thirlwell warningly, and thrust hard with his
paddle as the canoe drove past a foam-lapped rock.

"It is the chase he make," the half-breed resumed, and another figure
came out of the gloom, a short distance in front of the one they had
seen.

The man moved feebly, stumbling now and then, but it was obvious that he
meant to keep ahead of his pursuer. As he crossed a belt of moonlight
one of the _Metis_ recognized him, for he cried: "_Steve le sauage!
Regardez moi l'ivrogne!_"

Agatha thought the man was drunk. This would account for his
awkwardness, but as he turned and staggered down the bank she saw him
plainer and he looked ill. He dragged himself along with an effort, his
gait was uneven, as if one leg was weak, but he went on towards the
water's edge. A moment later he pushed off a