rl has made me plenty trouble these last two years. I wish I'd
never set eyes on her!"

"Forget it! Tie his feet together so he can't wander and go to bed now!"

* * * * *

Mary Moosa's little mosquito-tent was still in Imbrie's outfit, but the
woman preferred to roll up in her blanket by the fire like a man. Soon
the two of them were sleeping as calmly as two children, and Stonor was
left to his own thoughts.

* * * * *

It was a silent quartette that took to the river next day. Imbrie was
sulky; it appeared that he no longer found any relish in gibing at
Stonor. Clare was pale and downcast. After an hour or so they came to
the rapids where Stonor had intercepted Imbrie and Clare, and thereafter
the river was new to them. Stonor gathered from their talk that the
river was new, too, to Imbrie and the woman, but that they had received
information as to its course from Kakisa sources.

For many miles after that the current ran smooth and slow, and they
paddled the dug-out; Stonor in the bow, Imbrie guarding him with the
gun, Clare behind Imbrie, and the breed woman with the stern-paddle. All
with their backs to each other and all silent. About ten o'clock they
came to the mouth of a little creek coming in at the left, and here
Imbrie indicated they would spell.

"So this is the spot designed for my murder," thought Stonor, looking
over the ground with a natural interest.

The little brook was deep and sluggish; its surface was powdered with
tiny lilies and, at its edges, long grass trailed in the water. A clean,
grassy bank sloped up gradually. Further back were white-stemmed
aspen-trees gradually thickening into the forest proper.

"Ideal place for a picnic," thought Stonor grimly. As they went ashore
he perceived that the breed woman was somewhat agitated. She continually
wiped her forehead on her sleeve. This was somehow more reassuring than
her usual inhuman stolidity. Imbrie clearly was anxious, too, but not
about Stonor or what was going to happen to him. His eyes continually
sought Clare's face.

The breed woman glanced inquiringly at Imbrie. He said in the Indian
tongue: "We'll eat first."

"So I have an hour's respite," thought Stonor.

None of them displayed much appetite. Stonor forced himself to eat.
Imbrie glanced at him oddly from time to time. "He's sorry to see good
food wasted," thought the trooper. "Well, it won't be, if I can he