dly conversation, isolated as they
were. From time to time Ben pointed out objects of interest on the
shore; and she found herself remarking, in a casual voice, about them.
And before the afternoon he had made her laugh, in spite of herself,--a
gay sound in which fear and distress had little echo.

"We're bound to see a great deal of each other in the next few weeks,"
he had said; and this fact could not be denied. The sooner both became
adjusted to it the better. Actual fear of him she had none; she
remembered only too well the steel in his eyes and the white flame on
his cheeks as he had assured her of her safety.

In mid-afternoon Ben began to think of making his night's camp. From
time to time the bank became an upright precipice where not even a tree
could find foothold; and it had occurred to him, with sudden vividness,
that he did not wish the darkness to overtake him in such a place. The
river rocks would make short work of him, in that case. It was better to
pick out a camp site in plenty of time lest they could not find one at
the day's end.

In one of the more quiet stretches of water he saw the place--a small
cove and a green, tree-clad bank, with the gorge rising behind. Handling
his canoe with greatest care he slanted toward it. A moment later he had
caught the brush at the water's edge, stepped off into shallow water,
and was drawing the canoe up onto the bank.

"We're through for the day," he said happily, as he helped Beatrice out
of the boat. "I'll confess I'm ready to rest."

Beatrice made no answer because her eyes were busy. Coolly and quietly
she took stock of the situation, trying to get an idea of the
geographical features of the camp site. She saw in a glance, however,
that there was no path to freedom up the gorge behind her. The rocks
were precipitate: besides, she remembered that over a hundred miles of
impassable wilderness lay between her and her father's cabin. Without
food and supplies she could not hope to make the journey.

The racing river, however, wakened a curious, inviting train of thought.
The torrent continued largely unabated for at least one hundred miles
more, she knew, and the hours that it would be passable in a canoe were
numbered. The river had fallen steadily all day; driftwood was left on
the shore; rocks dried swiftly in the sun, cropping out like fangs above
the foam of the stream. Was there still time to drift on down the Yuga a
hundred or more miles to the dist