ight as I can. And in another
moment--"

"You've still got time to turn back," the girl answered him, seemingly
without feeling. "Glide into shore, and we'll try to catch an
overhanging limb. It's my last warning."

It was true that a few seconds remained in which they might, with heroic
effort, save themselves. But these were passing: already they could see
the gleaming whitecaps of the cataract below.

The roar of the wild waters was in their ears. Ahead they could see
great rocks, emerging like fangs above the water, sharp-edged and wet
with spray. The boat was shuddering; the water seemed to covet them, and
a great force, like the hand of a river god, reached at them from
beneath as if to crush them in a merciless grasp. A hundred yards
farther the smooth, swift water fell into a seething, roaring
cataract--such a manifestation of the mighty powers of nature as checks
the breath and awes the heart--a death stream in which seemingly the
canoe would be shattered to pieces in an instant.

Ben shook his head. The girl's white hand flashed to her side, then rose
sure and steady, holding her pistol. "Turn quick, or I'll fire," she
said.

He felt that, if such action were in her power, she told the truth. No
mercy dwelt in her clear gaze. His eye fell to the box of cartridges,
now fallen safely among the duffle. Presently he smiled into her eyes.

"Your gun is empty, Beatrice," he told her quietly. He heard her sob,
and he smiled a little, reassuringly. "Never mind--and pray for a good
voyage," he advised. "We're going through."

XXI

The craft and its occupants were out of sight by the time Jeffery
Neilson reached the river bank with his rifle. The flush had swept from
his bronze skin, leaving it a ghastly yellow, and for once in his life
no oaths came to his lips. He could only mutter, strangely, from a
convulsed throat.

Like an insane man he hastened down the river bank, fighting his way
through the brush. The thickets were dense, ordinarily impenetrable to
any mortal strength except to that mighty, incalculable power of the
moose and grizzly; yet they could not restrain him now. The tough
clothes he wore were nearly torn from his body; his face and hands were
scratched as if by the claws of a lynx; but he did not pause till he
reached the bank of the gray river.

Only one more glimpse of the canoe was vouchsafed him, and that glimpse
came too late. He saw the light barge just as it hovered at the cr