he said, dropping on one knee and turning half
round, so that he could keep an eye on her. She gave a swift glance over
her shoulder. They were not yet fully out of sight of the others.

"Your moccasin is not untied," she said suddenly.

At the same moment Stonor, still crouching, sprang at her, taking care
to keep under the gun. Grasping her knees, he flung her to the ground.
He got the gun, but before he could raise it, she sprang at him from all
fours like a cat, and clung to him with a passionate fury no man could
have been capable of. Stonor was unable to shake her off without
dropping the gun. Meanwhile she screamed for aid.

Both Imbrie and Clare came running. Imbrie, circling round the
struggling pair, clubbed his gun and brought it down on Stonor's head.
The trooper went to earth. He did not altogether lose consciousness. The
woman, maddened, recovered her gun, and was for dispatching him on the
spot, but Imbrie, thinking of Clare, prevented her.

Stonor was soon able to rise, and to make his way back, albeit somewhat
groggily, to the creek. Clare wished to support him, but he stopped her
with a look.

When they got back to their camp Imbrie demanded with seeming
indignation: "What was the matter with you? What did you expect to gain
by jumping on her?"

"What did she take me into the bush for?" countered Stonor. "To put a
bullet through me?"

Imbrie made a great parade of surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"She's tried twice already, hasn't she? I saw it in her eye. She saw it,
too----" pointing to Clare. "You heard her warn me. She never shot a
moose. That was too simple a trick."

"I did shoot a moose," said the woman sullenly.

"Then why don't you bring some of it in and let's see it. You have your
knife to cut off as much as we can carry."

She turned away with a discomposed face.

"Oh, well, if you won't take the trouble to bring in the meat we'll go
without it," said Imbrie quickly. Stonor laughed.

As they were making ready to start Stonor heard Imbrie say bitterly to
the woman, in their own tongue: "You made a pretty mess of that!"

"Well, do it yourself, then," she snarled back.

"Very well, I will. When I see a good chance."

"This is only the 25th," thought Stonor. "By hook or by crook I must
contrive to keep alive a couple of days longer."

Above this camping-place the character of the river changed again. The
banks became steep and stony, and the rapids succeeded each othe