"That's your part. You'd run more risk than I would, and I'm his
partner."

"I'd hate to stay," Benson protested. "You know how I'm indebted to
Blake."

"It's your place," Harding insisted. "Try to arrange the thing with
the Indian."

It took some time, but the man proved amenable. He frankly owned that
he would not have ventured near the Stony camp alone, because of some
quarrel between its inhabitants and his tribe, originating, Benson
gathered, over a dispute about trapping grounds; but he was ready to
accompany the white man, if the latter went well armed.

"All right; that's settled. We start at daybreak," said Harding.
"I'll lie down now; it's your watch."

Five minutes later he was sound asleep, and awoke, quietly determined
and ready for the march, in the cold of dawn. He was a man of the
cities, bred to civilized life, but he had a just appreciation of the
risks attached to his undertaking. He meant to abduct the doctor, who
himself was dangerous to meddle with, from an Indian village where he
apparently was held in great esteem. The Stonies, living far remote,
had escaped the chastening influence of an occasional visit from the
patrols of the North-West Police; they knew nothing of law and order.
Moreover, there was a possibility that Clarke might prove too clever
for his abductor.

It was certainly a strange adventure for a business man, but Harding
believed that his comrade would perish unless help could be obtained.
He shook hands with Benson, who wished him a sincere "Good-luck!" and
then, with the Indian leading, struck out through the muskeg toward the
shadowy hills.

CHAPTER XI

KIDNAPPED

Harding had cause to remember the forced march he made to the Stony
village. The light was faint, and the low ground streaked with haze,
as they floundered through the muskeg, sinking deep in the softer spots
and splashing through shallow pools. When they reached the first hill
bench he was hot and breathless, and their path led sharply upward over
banks of ragged stones which had a trick of slipping down when they
trod on them. It was worse where the stones were large and they
stumbled into the hollows between. Then they struggled through short
pine-scrub, crawled up a wet gorge where thick willows grew, and
afterward got entangled among thickets of thorny canes. Harding's
clothes were badly torn and his boots giving out; his breath was
labored, and his heart beat painfully, but he