e!"

From the rocking bottom Maren was reaching for a paddle, got it, thrust
by some one into her hands, and was cleaving water with the best of
them, deep stroke after deep stroke, the rush and suck of the eddy in
her ears.

In the cold blue darkness the stream whispered and warned like some old
witch at her cauldron, the night was clammy, and behind the new fires
flared against the towering trees.

A babble of voices told of pursuit,--shouts and gutturals that strung
out from the camp all through the gorge and were beginning to flow with
the river.

"Only a matter of time,--a little time," thought Wilson, at the prow,
but never a word was uttered in the canoe.

Exerting every atom of strength, calling on all the will-power aboard,
they shot forward into the night and the current.

The noise behind increased, as the tones of a bell blown by the wind
increase when the wind sets in one's direction.

"Not now!" Maren was saying to herself. "Not now,--when we are so far
toward the winning! Not now,--oh, Friend of my heart! why was that
price demanded? Holy Mary rest him, that young Marc Dupre--and send
deliverance for this--"

Ahead the river swept around a turn. Keeping close to the shore they
caught shallow water and cut round into a wider opening.

The cries behind veered and deadened, and suddenly Wilson in the prow
raised his blade.

Maren leaned behind him and looked into the shadows.

On every side dark shapes covered the face of the stream like
water-bugs, from every side there came the "whoo-sh-st-whoo-sh" of
dipping paddles, the little plank and rattle of their shafts against
gunwales.

They had glided into the midst of a flotilla of canoes travelling at
night and in silence.

The maid from Grand Portage threw up her head.

"In among them," she whispered, "quick! Deep as we can!"

"But, Ma'amselle," whispered back Wilson, "they may be Indians."

"What matters? A chance is a chance, and who would not risk its
turning?"

Unconsciously she was quoting that kinsman whose dauntless courage and
love of venture had found its last thrill in covering her retreat in the
gorge.

"In among them! Deep!"

Softly, as one of their number, the fugitive craft crept out to
midstream and forward, usurping boldly place and speed.

Leaning low at each stroke the little company strained eye and ear for
sight and sound, but, look as they might, they saw no eagle feathers
against the stars, heard no word or wh