u."

"You shall have all that we can leave you," said the Colonel eagerly and
with some emotion. "Ammunition in plenty, food, blankets, an axe--it's
little enough I can do, God knows, but I do that little most willingly."

"Again I thank you," said Landless wearily.

Sir Charles caught the inflection. "You stand in need of rest," he said
courteously, "and, this matter settled, our farther intrusion upon you
is as unnecessary as it must be unwelcome. Had we not best descend,
gentlemen?"

"Ay," said the Colonel. "We have done all we could." Then, to Landless,
"With the moonrise we drop down the river--from out your sight forever.
I have told you frankly there is no hope for you amongst your kind in
the world to which we return. I believe there to be none. But have you
thought of what we must needs leave you to? Humanly speaking, it is
death, and death alone, in the winter forest."

"I have thought," said Landless.

"From my soul I wish that some miracle may occur to save you yet!"

"An ill wish!" said the other, smiling, "with but little chance,
however, of its fulfillment."

"I fear not," said the Colonel with something like a groan, "but I wish
it, nevertheless. Here is my hand, and with it my heartfelt thanks for
your service to my daughter. And I wish you to believe that I deeply
deplore your fate, and that I would have saved you if I could."

"I believe it," Landless said simply.

The Colonel took and wrung his hand, then turned sharply away, and
beckoning the overseer to follow, strode out of the circle of rocks.

Sir Charles raised his feathered hat. "We have been foes," he said, "but
the strife is over--and when all is said, we are both Englishmen. I
trust we bear each other no ill will."

"I bear none," said Landless.

Sir Charles, his eyes still fixed upon the pale quiet of the other's
face, passed out of the opening between the rocks, and his place was
taken by the Surveyor-General.

"I would have saved you if I could," he said in a low and troubled
voice. "I bow to a brave man and a gallant gentleman," and he too was
gone.

In the glade below, the movement, the laughter and the song sank
gradually into silence as the gentlemen adventurers, the rangers, Indian
guides, and servants composing the rescuing party threw themselves down,
one by one, beside the blazing fires for a short rest before moonrise
and the long pull down the river.

Among the crags, high above the twinkling watch-fires and