em go! Damn you! Foul that drive!
I'll show 'em if they c'n slip a drive through me!"

And then--face to face between two high-piled pyramids--they met. The
words died in a horrible, throaty gurgle; and Moncrossen's face, livid
with rage, turned chalky as his eyes roved vacantly from Bill Carmody's
face to the face of the girl beyond. His jaw wagged weakly, his flabby
lips sagged open, exposing the jagged, brown teeth, and he passed his
hand uncertainly across his eyes.

"It's the greener," he mumbled thickly. "It's the greener hisself."

Another rollway rumbled into the river, and Bill leaped into the open.
"Stop!" he cried. "It's murder! There are men on that drive!"

The two lumber-jacks who stood almost at his side turned at the sound
of his voice. For one moment they stared into his face, and then with a
wild yell dropped their peavies and fled toward the bunk-house. Other
men looked, and from lip to lip flashed the word, "The greener!" Men
stared at him dumbly, or turned and dashed for the clearing in a panic
of fear.

"He come up out of the river!" shrilled one as he ran. "I seen him! An'
I seen him go under a year back! He come hell a rippin' up through the
bushes--an' a she one a follerin'!"

Men crowded about--the bolder spirits, the matter of fact, and the
unsuperstitious among the crew--and Bill turned again to Moncrossen,
who stood rooted in his tracks.

"Where is she?" he asked in a low voice that cut distinctly upon the
silence. "The mother of this girl?" Moncrossen started. With a visible
effort he strove for control of himself.

"Who are you?" he blurted, and the words rasped hollow and dry.

Bill turned to the men.

"Do _you_ know?" he asked. "An old Indian woman--did he bring her to
this camp?"

The men stared blankly from the speaker to Moncrossen and into each
other's faces. Suddenly, one stepped forward.

"Look in the storeroom!" he cried. "A little while back--it was at
night--I seen 'em drag somethin' in--him an' Larson of the van." At the
words, Moncrossen sprang toward the speaker with an inarticulate growl
of rage.

"You lie!" he screamed; but before he reached the man, who shrank back
into the crowd, Bill stepped in front of him. He raised his arm and
pointed toward the clearing.

"To the storehouse," he said in the same low voice. For a fleeting
second Moncrossen glared into his eyes, and without a word, turned and
led the way, closely followed by Bill and Jeanne, while the