at she had seen you turning into the next reach of
the river below. Mary's heart and mine jumped for joy. Imbrie hustled us
into the dug-out, and paddled like mad until he had put a couple of
bends between us and the spot.

"Later, he put the breed woman ashore. She had her gun. We were
terrified for you, but could do nothing. Imbrie carried us a long way
further before he camped. That was a dreadful night. We had no way of
knowing what was happening. Then came this morning. You saw what
happened then."

Stonor asked: "What did you make of that breed woman?"

"Nothing much, Martin. I felt just as I had with Imbrie, that I must
have known her at some time. She treated me well enough; that is to
say, she made no secret of the fact that she despised me, but was
constrained to look after me as something that Imbrie valued."

"Jealous?"

"No."

"What is the connection between her and Imbrie?"

"I don't know. They just seemed to take each other for granted."

"How did Imbrie address her?"

"I don't know. They spoke to each other in some Indian tongue. Mary said
it sounded a little like the Beaver language, but she could not
understand it."

"Where do you suppose this woman kept herself while Imbrie was living
beside the falls?"

Clare shook her head.

"If we knew that it would explain much!"

"Well, that's all of my story," said Clare. "Now tell me every little
thing you've done and thought since you left us."

"That's a large order," said Stonor, smiling.

When he had finished his tale he took her to the door of her tent.

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked anxiously.

"Down by the fire."

"Near--him?"

"That won't keep me awake."

"But if he should work loose and attack you?"

"I'll take precious good care of that."

"It's so far away!" she said plaintively.

"Twenty-five feet!" he said smiling.

"Couldn't you--sleep close outside my tent where I could hear you
breathing if I woke?"

He smiled, and gave her his eyes deep and clear. There comes a moment
between every two who deeply love when shame naturally drops away, and
to assume shame after that is the rankest hypocrisy. "I couldn't," he
said simply.

She felt no shame either. "Very well," she said. "You know best.
Good-night, Martin."

Stonor went back to the fire. He was too much excited to think of
sleeping immediately, but it was a happy excitement; he could even
afford at the moment not to hate Imbrie. The prisoner watche