uished his light?
And why was the night so still?

She strained to catch the familiar sounds of the wilderness--the little
night sounds to which she had grown accustomed: the bellowing of frogs
in the sedges, the chirp of tree-toads, and the harsh squawk of
startled night-fowls. Even the air seemed unnaturally still, and the
ceaseless drone of the mosquitoes served but to intensify the unnatural
silence. The mosquitoes broke the spell of the nameless terror, and
she slapped viciously at her face and neck.

"I'm a fool," she muttered; "a perfect fool! LeFroy puts out his light
every night and--and what if there are no sounds? I'm just listening
for something to be afraid of."

She glanced backward toward her own cottage where the light still
glowed from the window. It was reassuring, that little square of
yellow lamp-light that shone softly from the window of her room. She
was not afraid now. She would return to the cottage and lock the door.
She shuddered at the thought. Before her rose the vision of that dark,
shadowy face, tight-pressed against the glass. Instinctively she knew
that Indian was not alone. There were others, and--once more her eyes
swept the blackness.

Suddenly the question flashed through her brain: Why should these
Indians seek to avenge MacNair--the man who held the power of life and
death over them--who had practically forced them into servitude? Then,
swift as the question, flashed the answer: It was not to avenge MacNair
they came, but, knowing he was helpless, to strike the blow that would
free themselves from the yoke. Had Lapierre known this? Had he left,
knowing that the man's own Indians would finish the work his bullet had
only half completed? No! Lapierre would not have done that. Did he
not say: "I am glad I did not kill him"? He was thinking only of my
safety.

"We'll be safe enough till morning," she muttered. "Surely I have read
somewhere that Indians never attack in the night. Tomorrow we must
hide MacNair where they cannot find him. They will murder him, now
that he is wounded. How they must hate him! Must hate the man who has
oppressed and debauched and cheated them!"

The girl had nearly reached the door of the cottage when once more she
halted, rooted in her tracks. Out of the unnatural silence of the
night, close upon the edge of the clearing, boomed the cry of the great
horned owl. It was a sound she had often heard here in the northern
night--th