mind if they did. It is terrible to see you work so hard,
while I do nothing. Why do you work so hard for them?"

"I have hope of meeting help up the river."

She smiled incredulously. Stonor, seeing her resigned to the worst, said
no more about his hopes. After all they might fail, and it would be
better not to raise her hopes only to dash them.

"Better go," he urged. "Every little while through the night one or the
other of these breeds wakes, sits up, looks around, and goes back to
sleep again."

"Are you glad I came, Martin?"

"Very glad. Go back to your tent, and we'll talk in fancy until we fall
asleep again."

* * * * *

Stonor was awakened the next time by a loud, jeering laugh. It was full
daylight. The breed woman was standing at his feet, pointing mockingly
to the tell-tale print of Clare's little body in the sand beside him. A
blinding rage filled Stonor at the implication of that coarse laugh--but
he was helpless. Imbrie started up, and Stonor attempted to roll over on
the depression--but Imbrie saw it, saw also the little tracks leading
around behind the sleepers to Clare's tent.

No sound escaped from Imbrie, but his smooth face turned hideous with
rage; the lips everted over the clenched teeth, the ruddy skin livid and
blotchy. He quickly untied the bond between him and Stonor. The woman,
with a wicked smile, drew the knife out of her moccasin, and offered it
to him. He eagerly snatched it up. Stonor's eyes were fixed
unflinchingly on his face. He thought: "It has come!"

But at that moment Clare came out of her tent. Imbrie hid the knife and
turned away. As he passed the breed woman Stonor heard him mutter:

"I'll fix him to-night!"

* * * * *

That day as he trod the shore, bent under the tracking-line, Stonor had
plenty to occupy his mind. Over and over he made his calculations of
time and distance:

"This is the twenty-seventh. It was the fifteenth when I sent Tole
Grampierre back to Enterprise. If he rode hard he'd get there about noon
on the seventeenth. The steamboat isn't due to start up-stream until
the twentieth, but Gaviller would surely let her go at once when he got
my message. She'd only need to get wood aboard and steam up. She could
steam night and day too, at this stage of water; she's done it
before--that is, if they had anybody to relieve Mathews at the engine.
There are plenty of pilots. Surely Gaviller wo