ER IV

CHLOE SECURES AN ALLY

A shout from the bank heralded the appearance of the first scow, which
was closely followed by the two others. When they had landed, Lapierre
issued a few terse orders, and the scowmen leaped to his bidding. The
overturned scow was righted and loaded, and the remains of the
demolished whiskey-kegs burned. Lapierre himself assisted the three
women to their places, and as Chloe seated herself near the bow, he
smiled into her eyes.

"Vermilion was a good riverman, but so am I. Do you think you can
trust your new pilot?"

Somehow, the words seemed to imply more than the mere steering of a
scow. Chloe flushed slightly, hesitated a moment, and then returned
the man's smile frankly.

"Yes," she answered gravely, "I know I can."

Their eyes met in a long look. Lapierre gave the command to shove off,
and when the scows were well in the grip of the current, he turned
again to the girl at his side. Their hands touched, and again Chloe
was conscious of the strange, new thrill that quickened her
heart-beats. She did not withdraw her hand, and the fingers of
Lapierre closed about her palm. He leaned toward her. "Only quarter
Indian," he said softly. "My grandmother was the daughter of a great
chief."

The girl felt the hot blood mount to her face and gently withdrew her
hand. Somehow, she could not tell why, the words seemed good to hear.
She smiled, and Lapierre, who was watching her intently, smiled in
return.

"We are approaching quick water; we will cover many miles today, and
tonight beside the camp-fire we will talk further."

Chloe's eyes searched the scows. "Where are the two who attacked Lena?
Your men captured them."

Lapierre's smile hardened. "Those who deserted me for Vermilion? Oh,
I--dismissed them from my service."

Hour after hour, as the scows rushed northward, Chloe watched the
shores glide past; watched the swirling, boiling water of the river;
watched the solemn-faced scowmen, and the silent, vigilant pilot; but
most of all she watched the pilot, whose quick eye picked out the
devious channel, and whose clear, alert brain directed, with a movement
of the lancelike pole, the labours of the men at the sweeps.

She contrasted his manner--quiet, graceful, sure--with that of
Vermilion, the very swing of whose pole proclaimed the vaunting,
arrogant braggart. And she noted the difference in the attitude of the
scowmen toward these two leaders. Their obedien