light craft. There came to my crew Little Fellow, a short, thick-set
man, with a grinning, good-natured face, who--despite his size--would
solemnly assure people he was equal in force to the sun. With him was La
Robe Noire, of grave aspect and few words, mighty in stature and
shoulder power. There were five or six others, whose names in the
clangor of voices I did not hear. Of these, one was a tall, lithe,
swift-moving man, whose cunning eyes seemed to gleam with the malice of
a serpent. This canoeman silently twisted into sleeping posture directly
behind me.

The signal was given, and we were in mid-stream again. Wrapping my
blanket about me, half propped by a bale of stuff and breathing deep of
the clear air with frequent resinous whiffs from the forest I drowsed
off. The swish of waters rushing past and the roar of torrents, which I
had seen and heard during the day, still sounded in my ears. The sigh of
the night-wind through the forest came like the lonely moan of a
far-distant sea, and I was sleepily half conscious that cedars, pines
and cliffs were engaged in a mad race past the sides of the canoe. A bed
in which one may not stretch at random is not comfortable. Certainly my
cramped limbs must have caused bad dreams. A dozen times I could have
sworn the Indian behind me had turned into a snake and was winding round
my chest in tight, smothering coils. Starting up, I would shake the
weight off. Once I suddenly opened my eyes to find blanket thrown aside
and pistol belt unstrapped. Lying back eased, I was dozing again when I
distinctly felt a hand crawl stealthily round the pack on which I was
pillowed and steal towards the dagger handle in the loosened belt. I
struck at it viciously only to bruise my fist on my dagger. Now wide
awake, I turned angrily towards the Indian. Not a muscle of the still
figure had changed from the attitude taken when he came into the canoe.
The man was not asleep, but reclined in stolid oblivion of my existence.
His head was thrown back and the steely, unflinching eyes were fixed on
the stars.

"It may not have been you, my scowling sachem," said I to myself, "but
snakes have fangs. Henceforth I'll take good care you're not at my
back."

I slept no more that night. Next day I asked the fellow his name and he
poured out such a jumbled mouthful of quick-spoken, Indian syllables, I
was not a whit the wiser. I told him sharply he was to be Tom Jones on
my boat, at which he gave an evil le