, though the
bordering hills or bench were gradually growing higher and bolder.
Stonor, by putting every ounce that was in him into his paddle, slowly
gained again on the dug-out. He knew now that Imbrie, irrespective of
Mary, had a second paddle to help him. It gave the dug-out an advantage,
especially in swift water, that more than neutralized its extra weight.

By evening of the fourth day all signs indicated that he was drawing
close to his quarry again. He kept on until forced to stop by complete
darkness. On this night the sky was heavily overcast, and it was as dark
as a winter's night. He camped where he happened to be; it was a poor
spot, no more than a stony slope among willows. He had done all his
necessary cooking during the day, so there was no need to wait for his
supper.

The mosquitoes were troublesome, and he put up his tent, hastily
slinging it between two trees, and weighing down the sides and the back
with a few stones. To his tent he afterwards ascribed the preservation
of his life. It was the simplest form of tent, known as a "lean-to," or,
as one might say, merely half a tent sliced along the ridge-pole, with a
roof sloping to the ground at the back, and the entire front open to the
fire except for a mosquito-bar.

His bed was hard, but he was too weary to care. He lay down in his
blanket, but not to achieve forgetfulness immediately; strong
discipline was still required to calm his hot impatience. How could he
sleep, not knowing perhaps but that one more mile might bring him to his
goal? Indeed, Imbrie's camp might be around the next bend. But he could
not risk his frail canoe in the shallow river after dark.

Stonor was on the borderland of sleep when he was suddenly roused to
complete wakefulness by a little sound from behind his tent. A woodsman
soon learns to know all the normal sounds of night, and this was
something different, an infinitely stealthy sound, as of a body dragging
itself an inch at a time, with long waits between. It seemed to be
slowly making its way around his tent towards the open front.

Now Stonor knew that there was no animal in his country that stalks
human prey, and he instantly thought of his two-legged enemy. Quick and
noiselessly as a cat he slipped out of his blankets, and rolling his
dunnage-bag in his place drew the blanket over it. In the faint light
reflected from the embers outside it might be supposed that he still lay
there. He then cautiously moved the