ion had nearly defeated the otherwise invincible spirit of Steve.
It was there in the bottom of the light vessels, in the drawn faces and
attenuated bodies of the paddler crew of Shaunekuks. It was in the
display of Steve's side-arms strapped to a strut of the canoe ready to
his hand, with holsters agape, and his loaded guns protruding
threateningly. It was in a similar display in the second boat, which the
well-nigh demented Julyman had commanded. Oh, yes. No words were needed
to tell the story. It was there for all to read.

The rescuers understood the uselessness of questions. Help was needed,
and it was freely given. The urgency of it all held them utterly silent,
except for sharp, brief orders.

Ross and the two teamsters dealt with Steve's boat. Jack Belton and the
camp scouts devoted themselves to the second.

In Steve's boat were the fever-ridden body of An-ina, and the scarcely
living shadow of the child, Marcel. Ross lifted the half-dead woman and
carried her up the bank to the tent which had been set up. Then he
returned in haste for the child. On his way he paused for a moment to
glance at the broken body of Oolak, who was being removed from the
second boat by Jack Belton.

"Guess it's not starvation here," he said significantly.

"No," Belton admitted. "It's a bad smash, I guess. Say----"

The Scotsman glanced back at the river, following the horrified gaze of
his companion. His big heart thrilled with instant pity, and he set off
on the run.

Steve, wild, unkempt, was labouring up from the water's edge, hobbling
painfully on feet that were bound up in great pads of blanket. He was
bearing in his arms the emaciated, unconscious body of the child, and
his whole attitude was one of infinite tenderness, and care, and
disregard for his own sufferings.

The doctor reached the struggling man and held out his arms.

"Give me the little chap," he demanded in his brusque fashion.

Steve turned his head. He stared at him in the fashion of a blind man.

"No!" he said sharply. Then he added with almost insane passion, "Not on
your life!"

CHAPTER XI

STEVE LISTENS

"We've got 'em beat."

The man of healing recovered the sick man's feet with the blanket, and
rolled the old dressings he had just removed into a bundle ready for the
camp-fire outside.

"You mean----"

Steve was lying in his blankets propped into a half-sitting position. A
candle, stuck in the neck of a bottle, lit the tent suf