that season is no more
than an intensified twilight. By and by the moon arose far across the
water, looking like an old-fashioned gas-globe, and set sail on her
brief voyage low down in the sky from south-east to south-west.

Sam received the friend of lovers with a scowl. He had omitted her
from his calculations. "The nights are short enough without that!" he
thought.

Thinking of escape, a new idea caused him to sit up suddenly.

"Why bother with a raft?" he thought. "She's got to sleep sometime. If
I could sneak around the beach and push the dugout in! No matter how
quick she woke once I was afloat. Oh! it would do my heart good to
float just out of her reach and tell her a few things. On a night like
this I could paddle anywhere. She's got some food and a blanket. Serve
her right, anyhow. I could send some one back after her."

To think of it was to desire to put it into instant action. The moon,
however, forbade. Sam cursed her again, and sat down to wait with what
patience he could muster until it should slowly sink out of sight.

When the bright scimitar edge sunk behind Nine-Mile Point he arose
with a beating heart. Making his blankets into a bundle, he took his
way once more around the strip of beach, his moccasined feet falling
noiselessly on the sand.

It was about two o'clock, and the afterglow had moved around to the
north-east. In an hour it would be light again. The island objects
loomed twice their size in this dusk of dusk. Sam kept close under the
willows to avoid making a silhouette against the sky. As he drew close
to Bela's camp he saw that her fire was out, from which he argued that
she had been asleep for some time.

Coming nearer still, he made out the form of the dugout against the
pale sand. Bela had drawn it up higher, and had turned it over. Still
hugging the willows, he paused, looking for her resting-place. He
could not see her. He supposed she had made her bed under the willows
behind her fire. He dared not approach to make sure. Likely she was a
light sleeper.

Following man's first instinct, he bent double, and crept across the
open sand to the dugout. It lay on its side, the bottom turned toward
him.

His heart was beating like a steam hammer. If with one quick movement
he could turn it over and rush it into the water, let her wake as
quick as she chose. If she attempted to stop him she must take the
consequences. When a man's liberty was at stake he could not be too
nice wi