lay just below, but surely the
canoeists would stay at a safe distance above them. And if by any chance
this young prospector had no skill with a canoe, Beatrice herself was an
expert.

Yet what, in reality, did he know of Ben Darby? He had liked the man's
face: whence he came and what was his real business on the Yuga he had
not the least idea. All at once a baffling apprehension crept like a
chill through his frame.

He could not laugh it away. It laid hold of him, refusing to be
dispelled. It was as if an inner voice was warning him, telling him to
rush down to the river bank and check that canoe ride at all costs. It
occurred to him, for the moment, that this might be premonition of a
disastrous accident, yet vaguely he sensed a plot, an obscure design
that filled him with ghastly terror. Once more the man started for the
door.

Unaware of his ground, he did not hurry at first. He hardly knew what to
say, by what excuse he could call Beatrice back to the landing. His
heart was racing incomprehensibly in his breast, and all at once he
started to run.

At the first step he fell sprawling, and stark panic was upon him when
he got to his feet again. And when he reached the landing the canoe was
already near the opposite shore, heading swiftly downstream.

He saw in one glance that the craft was rather heavily laden, Fenris
atop the pile of duffle, and that Ben was paddling with a remarkably
fast, easy stroke. "Come back, Beatrice," he shouted. "You've forgotten
something."

The girl turned, waving, but Ben's voice drowned out hers. "We'll see
you later," he called in a gay voice. "We can't come back now."

"Come back!" Neilson called again. "I order you--"

He stared intently, hoping that the man would turn. Already they were
practically out of hearing; and not even Beatrice was dipping her paddle
in obedience to his command. Looking more closely, he saw that the man
only was paddling.

Then his eye fell to the landing on which he stood, instinctively trying
to locate the second paddle. It lay at his feet. A foolhardy thing to
do, he thought, a broken paddle, out there above the rapids, would mean
death and no other thing. Helpless in the current, the canoe could not
be guided through those fearful gates of peril below. If by a
thousandth chance it escaped the rocks, it would be carried for
unnumbered miles into a land unknown, a territory that could be entered
only by the greatest difficulty--packing day a