ht," echoed the girl. "Only after the scene we have just
witnessed, it seemed that I myself could kill deliberately, and be glad
I killed. Truly the North breeds savagery. For I, too, have killed on
the spur of the moment!" The words fell rapidly from her lips, and she
cried out as in physical pain. "And to think that I killed in defence
of _him_! Oh, if I had let the Indian shoot that night, all this"--she
waved her hand to the northward--"would never have happened."
"Very true, Miss Elliston," answered Lapierre softly. "But do not
blame yourself. Under the circumstances, you could not have done
otherwise."
As he talked, two of the canoemen made up light packs from the outfit
of the wrecked canoe. Seeing that they had concluded, Lapierre arose,
and taking Chloe's hand in both of his, looked straight into her eyes.
"Good-by," he said simply. "These Indians will conduct you in safety
to your school." And, without waiting for a reply, turned and followed
the two canoemen into the brush.
Chloe sat for a long time staring into the flames of the tiny fire
before creeping between her damp blankets. Despite the utter
body-weariness of her long canoe-trip, the girl slept but fitfully in
her cold bed.
In the early grey of the morning she started up nervously. Surely a
sound had awakened her. She heard it distinctly now, the sound of
approaching footsteps. She strained to locate the sound, and instantly
realized it was not the tread of moccasined feet. She threw off the
frost-stiffened blankets and leaped to her feet, shivering in the keen
air of the biting dawn.
The sounds of the footsteps grew louder, plainer, as though someone had
turned suddenly from the shore and approached the thicket with long,
heavy strides. With muscles tense and heart bounding wildly the girl
waited. Then, scarce ten feet from her side, the thick scrub parted
with a vicious swish, and a man, hatless, glaring, and white-faced,
stood before her. The man was MacNair.
CHAPTER XV
"ARREST THAT MAN!"
Seconds passed--tense, portentous seconds--as the two stood facing each
other over the dead ashes of the little fire. Seconds in which the
white drawn features of the man engraved themselves indelibly upon
Chloe Elliston's brain. She noted the knotted muscles of the clenched
hands and the glare of the sunken eyes. Noted, also, the cringing
fear-stricken forms of the two Indians, who had awakened and lay
cowering upo
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