his eyes fixed on the point around which the dug-out
must appear. The sun was sinking low; they must soon come or they would
not come. On this day he was sure Imbrie would work to the limit. He
smiled grimly to think how the man would be paddling with his head over
his shoulder, never guessing how danger lay ahead. Oh, but it was hard
to wait, though! His muscles twitched, the blood hammered in his
temples.

By and by, from too intense a concentration on a single point, the whole
scene became slightly unreal. Stonor found himself thinking: "This is
all a dream. Presently I will wake up."

In the end, when the dug-out did come snaking around the bend, he rubbed
his eyes to make sure they did not deceive him. Though he had been
waiting for it all that time, it had the effect of a stunning surprise.
His heart set up a tremendous beating, and his breath failed him a
little. Then suddenly, as they came closer, a great calm descended on
him. He realized that this was the moment he had planned for, and that
his calculations were now proved correct. For the last time he threw
over the mechanism of his gun and reloaded it.

Imbrie was paddling in the stern, of course. The man looked pretty
nearly spent, and there was little of his cynical impudence to be seen
now. Clare lay on her stomach on the baggage amidships, staring ahead
with her chin propped in her palms, a characteristic boy's attitude that
touched Stonor's heart. Her face was as white as paper, and bore a look
of desperate composure. Stonor had never seen that look; seeing it now
he shuddered, thinking, what if he had not found them before nightfall!

Imbrie grounded the canoe on the shelf of rock immediately below Stonor,
and no more than five paces from the muzzle of his gun. Clare climbed
out over the baggage without waiting to be spoken to, and walked away
up-stream a few steps, keeping her back turned to the man. Her head was
sunk between her shoulders; she stared out over the rapids, seeing
nothing. At the sight of the little figure's piteous dejection rage
surged up in Stonor; he saw red.

Imbrie got out and went to pick his course up the rapids. He cast a
sidelong look at Clare's back as he passed her. The man was too weary to
have much devilry in him at the moment. But in his dark eyes there was a
promise of devilry.

Having laid out his course he returned to the bow of the dug-out for his
tracking-line. This was the moment Stonor had been waiting for.