o
man would ever know the fate of those the river claimed.

He was above the camp when he descended to its banks, but he worked his
way down through the thickets toward Jeffery Neilson's cabin. The river
flowed quietly here, a long, still stretch that afforded safe boating.
Yet the smooth waters did not in the least alleviate Ben's haunting
sense of their sinister power and peril. The old gray she-wolf is not to
be trusted in her peaceful moments. His keen ears could distinctly hear
the roar and rumble of wild waters, just below.

The river was of great depth as well as breadth,--one of the king rivers
of the land. Ben found himself staring into its depths with a quickening
pulse. He had a momentary impression that this great stream was his
ally, a mighty agent that he could bend to his will.

He approached the long, sloping bank on which stood Neilson's cabin; and
he suddenly drew up short at the sight of a light, staunch canoe on the
open water. It was a curious fact that he noticed the craft itself
before ever he glanced at its occupant. A thrill of excitement passed
over him. He realized that this boat simplified to some degree his own
problem, in that it afforded him means of traversing this great
water-body, certainly to be a factor in the forthcoming conflict. The
boat had evidently been the property of Hiram Melville.

Then he noticed, with a strange, inexplicable leap of his heart, that
its lone occupant was Beatrice Neilson. His eye kindled at the
recognition, and the beginnings of a smile flashed to his lips. But at
once remembrance came to him, crushing his joy as the heel crushes a
tender flower. The girl was of the enemy camp, the daughter of the
leader of the triumvirate of murderers. While she herself could have had
no part in the crime, perhaps she already had guilty knowledge of it,
and at least she was of her father's hated blood.

He had builded much on his friendship with this girl; but he felt it
withering, turning black--like buds under frost--in his cold breast.
There could be no friendly words, except in guile; no easy comradeship
between them now. They were on opposite sides, hated foes to the last.
Perhaps she would be one of the innocents that must suffer with the
guilty; but he felt no remorse. Not even this lovely, tender wood child
must stand in his way.

Nevertheless, he must not put her on guard. He must simulate friendship.
He lifted his hat in answer to her gay signal.

She wor