he mysterious scarcity of
labor which developed on his arrival.

Tole's budget of news from down the river contained nothing startling.
John Gaviller had been very sick all summer with pneumonia as a result
of his wound. He was getting better: "pale and skinny as an old rabbit
in the snow," in Tole's words.

Gaviller had sent up the launch to get what grain had been grown at the
crossing; but it was not enough to fill his contracts for flour up
north. He had been obliged to pay two dollars a bushel for it.
Ambrose smiled at this piece of information.

Ambrose waited eagerly for some word of her who was seldom out of his
thoughts, but to Tole the matter was not of such great importance.
Ambrose could not bring himself to name her name. Not until Tole had
covered everything else did he say casually:

"Colina Gaviller rides all around on her yellow horse. She is proud
now. Never speaks to the people."

That was all. Ambrose's heart stirred with compassion for the one, who
by her loyalty was forced to embrace the wrong cause.

Another time Tole remarked: "Gordon Strange run the store all summer."

"So!" said Ambrose. "What do the people say about him? What does your
father say?"

Tole shrugged. "He say not'ing," he said cautiously. He could not be
induced to commit himself further in this direction.

They built their raft, and loading up, started without untoward
incident. Traveling day and night, allowing for stoppages and delays,
they expected to be nearly five days on the way.

On the third day, Ambrose chafing at their slow progress, put the
dugout overboard, and set off ahead to warn the settlement of their
coming. He had no hesitation leaving the raft with the Grampierre
boys; they could handle it better than himself.

He paddled all day, and at night cut down a tree so that it would fall
in the water, and tied his canoe to it, that he might not be blown
ashore while he slept.

For hours he lay waiting for sleep, watching the stars circle round his
head as his canoe was swung in the eddies, and considering his
situation.

He could not rest for his eagerness to be at the end of his journey,
though he had no hope of what awaited there--that is to say not much
hope; there is always a perhaps.

But how could Colina relent when she beheld him arriving laden with
ammunition to make war upon her? Ambrose wondered sadly if any lover
before him ever found himself in such a plight.

By ten o'clo