em appeared several Indian lodges,
entirely covered with great strips of birch bark. The place was
evidently deserted, for no sign of life was to be seen. Here the canoe
was run ashore, and landing made for the night.

Supper over, one of the Indians handed the captive a blanket, and
motioned to the nearest lodge. Jean understood his meaning, took the
blanket, and did as she was bidden. The lodge was empty, so placing
the blanket upon the ground, she sat down and watched the Indians
through the opening which served as a door. A few minutes later her
captors pushed off their canoe, stepped lightly on board and started
down the river. With fast-beating heart the girl watched them until
they had disappeared from view. Then a terrible feeling of desolation
came upon her. She was in the wilderness, alone, with untold dangers
surrounding her. Had they deserted her? Had the Indians brought her
there to perish? The thought was horrible. What had she done to
deserve such a fate? With straining eyes she watched the river, hoping
to see the Indians return. But night again shut down and they did not
come. Certain was she now that they had left her to die. Burying her
face in her hands, she sobbed out her grief, the first time since her
capture. She had tried to be brave, but in all her imaginings she had
never dreamed of such a fate as this.

And as she cowered there in the night, listening fearfully to every
sound around her, the canoe, bearing her two captors stole noiselessly
by, and sped onward through the darkness. The grief and loneliness of
the girl meant little to them. Their work was done, they had received
their reward, and far off around various camp fires they would relate
to their own people the tale of the pale face captive girl.

CHAPTER XVII

THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY

While Jean was crouching there alone in the desolate lodge, several men
were gathered around a small fire over half a mile down stream. They
had been drinking, and their words were loud and coarse. Seth Lupin
was the leader, and he was in great spirits. Three of his companions
were the slashers who had attacked Dane Norwood at Portland Point, and
they, too, seemed much pleased.

These brutes in human forms firmly believed that they were safe from
all prying eyes, and that their words of lust and revenge were lost
amidst the forest depths. Little did they realise that not far away
the form of an Indian was pressed close t