se to the
river bank.

"Get your tent up here," I called to conciliate them. "Then come to the
bank and watch for the Indians."

A bit of clean gravel ran out from the clay cliff.

"That's the ground," said I, as the other canoe bumped over the pebbles;
and I stopped paddling and dangled my hand in the water.

Something in the dark drifted wet and soft against my fingers.
Ordinarily such an incident would not have alarmed me; but instantly a
shudder of apprehension ran through my frame. I scarce had courage to
look into the river lest the white face of a woman should appear through
the watery depths. Clutching the water-soaked tangle, I jerked it up.
Something gave with a rip, and my hand was full of shawl fringe.

"What's that, Rufus?" asked Father Holland. "Don't know." I motioned
him to be silent and held it up in the moonlight. Distinctly it was, or
had been, red fringe.

"Do you think--" he began, then stopped. Our keel had rubbed bottom and
Hamilton was springing out of the other canoe.

"Yes, I do," I replied, choking with dread. "This is too terrible! He'll
kill himself! Go up the bank with him! Keep him busy at the tent! Little
Fellow and I'll pole for it. The water's shallow there----"

"What do _you_ think?" said the priest to Laplante.

"T'ink! I never t'ink! I finds out." But all the same, Louis' assurance
was shaken and he peered searchingly into the river.

"Aren't you coming? What's your plan?" called Eric.

"Certainly we are, but get this truck to higher ground, will you?" I
hoisted out the camp trappings. "I want to paddle out for something."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Something lost out there. I lost it out of my hand."

Frances Sutherland, I know, suspected trouble from the alarm which I
could not keep out of my speech; for she pressed to the water's edge.

"Get the tent ready," I urged.

"What's the meaning of this mystery?" persisted Hamilton sharply. "What
have you lost?"

"Don't press him too closely. Faith, it may be a love token,"
interjected Father Holland, as he stepped ashore; but he whispered in my
ear as he passed, "You're wrong, lad! You're on the wrong track!"

I leaped back to the canoe, Little Fellow and the Frenchman following,
and we paddled to the shallows where I had caught the fringe. I prodded
the soft mud below and trailed the paddle back and forward over the clay
bottom. Louis did likewise; but in vain. Only soft ooze came up on the
blade. Then Little Fell