nd of Poleon Doret worked in straight lines. Moreover, his memory
was good. Stark's statement, which so upset Gale and the Lieutenant,
had a somewhat different effect upon the Frenchman, for certain facts
had been impressed upon his subconsciousness which did not entirely
gibe with the gambler's remarks, and yet they were too dimly engraved
to afford foundation for a definite theory. What he did know was this,
that he doubted. Why? Because certain scraps of a disjointed
conversation recurred to him, a few words which he had overheard in
Stark's saloon, something about a Peterborough canoe and a woman. He
knew every skiff that lay along the waterfront, and of a sudden he
decided to see if this one was where it had been at dusk; for there
were but two modes of egress from Flambeau, and there was but one canoe
of this type. If Necia had gone up-river on the freighter, pursuit was
hopeless, for no boatman could make headway against the current; but
if, on the other hand, that cedar craft was gone--He ran out of Stark's
house and down to the river-bank, then leaped to the shingle beneath.
It was just one chance, and if he was wrong, no matter; the others
would leave on the next up-river steamer; whereas, if his suspicion
proved a certainty, if Stark had lied to throw them off the track, and
Runnion had taken her down-stream--well, Poleon wished no one to hinder
him, for he would travel light.

The boat WAS gone! He searched the line backward, but it was not there,
and his excitement grew now, likewise his haste. Still on the run, he
stumbled up to the trading-post and around to the rear, where, bottom
up, lay his own craft, the one he guarded jealously, a birch canoe,
frail and treacherous for any but a man schooled in the ways of swift
water and Indian tricks. He was very glad now that he had not told the
others of his suspicions; they might have claimed the right to go, and
of that he would not be cheated. He swung the shell over his shoulders,
then hurried to the bank and down the steep trail like some great,
misshapen turtle. He laid it carefully in the whispering current, then
stripped himself with feverish haste, for the driving call of a hot
pursuit was on him, and although it was the cold, raw hours of late
night, he whipped off his garments until he was bare to the middle. He
seized his paddle, stepped in, then knelt amidships and pushed away.
The birch-bark answered him like a living thing, leaping and dancing
bene