and motioned the
girl behind the screen with a short wave of her pipe.

The man offered Bill a pair of faded blue overalls and a much-bepatched
shirt of blue flannel, and when Jeanne emerged, clad in the best dress
of her hostess, Bill took his turn in the dressing-room.

"Can't be too pedicular in a pinch," he grinned as he wriggled
dubiously into the dry garments, and in a few minutes he was seated
beside the girl upon a rough bench drawn close to the fire.

Chenault, being a half-breed, was more inclined toward garrulity than
his Indian spouse.

"How you come?" he asked with evident interest. Jeanne answered him,
speaking rapidly, and at the end of a half-hour the man was in full
possession of the details of their plight. He slowly shook his head.

"Moncrossen camp ver' far--feefty--seexty mile," he said. "You no
mak'."

Bill looked up suddenly. "Have you a canoe?" he inquired.

The other looked at him in surprise. "Canoe, she no good!" he grunted.
"Too mooch ice. Bre'k all to hell in one minute!"

With an exclamation he leaped to his feet. "By gar! De flat boat!" he
cried triumphantly.

"She is all build for tak' de fur. De riv', she run ver' swift. In de
morning you go--in de evening you come on de camp!"

"I will pay you well for the boat," said Bill eagerly. "I have no money
here. Give me a pencil; I will write an order on Monsieur Appleton, the
man who owns the woods."

At the words the half-breed shrugged.

"You no got for mak' write," he said. "You tell Wa-ha-ta-na-ta you
come--by gar! You come! You tell me you pay--you pay. You no got for
mak' write."

Bill smiled.

"That is all right, providing I get through. What if the boat gets
tipped over or smashed in the ice?"

Chenault shrugged again. "You De-Man-Who-Cannot-Die," he said. "You got
de good heart. In de woods all peoples know. You no mak' write. I got
no penzil."

CHAPTER L

FACE TO FACE

Before daylight next morning the two men dragged the little flat boat
to the water's edge. The river had risen to full flood during the night
and out of the darkness came the crash and grind of ice, the dull roar
and splash of undermined banks, and the purling rumble of swift moving
water.

After breakfast Bill and Jeanne, armed with light spruce poles, took
their places; Chenault pushed the boat into the current and it shot
downstream, whirling in the grip of the flood.

There was no need for oars. Both Bill and the girl had their w