came near her carefully, as she got the big canoe out of the current
into quieter water. She whipped the scarf from about her neck, and with
his knife ripped up the seam of his sleeve. Her face was alive with the
joy of conflict and elated with triumph. Her eyes were shining. She bathed
the wound--the bullet had passed clean through the fleshy part of the
arm--and then carefully tied the scarf round it over her handkerchief.

"I guess it's as good as a man could do it," she said, at last.

"As good as any doctor," he rejoined.

"I wasn't talking of your arm," she said.

"Course not. Excuse me. You was talkin' of them rapids, and I've got to
say there ain't a man that could have done it and come through like you. I
guess the man that marries you'll get more than his share of luck."

"I want none of that," she said, sharply, and picked up her paddle again,
her eyes flashing anger.

He took a pistol from his pocket and offered it to her. "I didn't mean any
harm by what I said. Take this if you think I won't know how to behave
myself," he urged.

She flung up her head a little. "I knew what I was doing before I
started," she said. "Put it away. How far is it, and can we do it in
time?"

"If you can hold out, we can do it; but it means going all night and all
morning; and it ain't dawn yet, by a long shot."

* * * * *

Dawn came at last, and the mist of early morning, and the imperious and
dispelling sun; and with mouthfuls of food as they drifted on, the two
fixed their eyes on the horizon beyond which lay Bindon. And now it seemed
to the girl as though this race to save a life, or many lives, was the one
thing in existence. _To-morrow_ was to-day, and the white petticoat was
lying in the little house in the mountains, and her wedding was an
interminable distance off, so had this adventure drawn her into its risks
and toils and haggard exhaustion.

Eight, nine, ten, eleven o'clock came, and then they saw signs of
settlement. Houses appeared here and there upon the banks, and now and
then a horseman watched them from the shore, but they could not pause.
Bindon--Bindon--Bindon--the Snowdrop Mine at Bindon, and a death-dealing
machine timed to do its deadly work, were before the eyes of the two
_voyageurs_.

Half-past eleven, and the town of Bindon was just beyond them. A quarter
to twelve, and they had run their canoe into the bank beyond which were
the smokestacks and