g about it which thrilled
her until every drop of blood in her body was racing with the impetus
of the stream itself. Eddies of wind puffing out from between the chasm
walls tossed her loose hair about her back in a glistening veil. He saw
a long strand of it trailing over the edge of the canoe into the water.
It made him shiver, and he wanted to cry out to Bateese that he was a
fool for risking her life like this. He forgot that he was the one
helpless individual in the canoe, and that an upset would mean the end
for him, while Bateese and his companion might still fight on. His
thought and his vision were focused on the girl--and what lay straight
ahead. A mass of froth, like a windrow of snow, rose up before them,
and the canoe plunged into it with the swiftness of a shot. It
spattered in his face, and blinded him for an instant. Then they were
out of it, and he fancied he heard a note of laughter from the girl in
the bow. In the next breath he called himself a fool for imagining
that. For the run was dead ahead, and the girl became vibrant with
life, her paddle flashing in and out, while from her lips came sharp,
clear cries which brought from Eateese frog-like bellows of response.
The walls shot past; inundations rose and plunged under them; black
rocks whipped with caps of foam raced up-stream with the speed of
living things; the roar became a drowning voice, and then--as if
outreached by the wings of a swifter thing--dropped suddenly behind
them. Smoother water lay ahead. The channel broadened. Moonlight filled
it with a clearer radiance, and Carrigan saw the girl's hair glistening
wet, and her arms dripping.

For the first time he turned about and faced Bateese. The half-breed
was grinning like a Cheshire cat!

"You're a confoundedly queer pair!" grunted Carrigan, and he turned
about again to find Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as unconcerned as though
running the Holy Ghost Rapids in the glow of the moon was nothing more
than a matter of play.

It was impossible for him to keep his heart from beating a little
faster as he watched her, even though he was trying to regard her in a
most professional sort of way. He reminded himself that she was an
iniquitous little Jezebel who had almost murdered him. Carmin Fanchet
had been like her, an AME DAMNEE--a fallen angel--but his business was
not sympathy in such matters as these. At the same time he could not
resist the lure of both her audacity and her courage, and he fo