ear the Blackfeet, plashing about, and talking. In
a moment or so they were upon the beaver-house itself. Their moccasins
crunched the brittle sticks and mud; they thrust with their spears, and
seemed uncertain what to do, themselves.

Another fear thrilled him. Supposing they guessed that he was under
them, and set the house on fire! It would burn; the fire would eat
down, and he would be roasted or smothered. He listened intently, for
the crackling; even fancied that he could smell the smoke; let himself
down as far as he might, so as to dodge the spear points.

After a long, long time the voices and the plashing grew less, as the
Blackfeet appeared to be giving up the search. Then they all collected
again. Then they went away. Then they came back. Would they never
quit? He was chilled stiff, soaked with the icy water. But he hung on.

Finally silence reigned. They had gone; or hadn't they? Maybe they
were hidden, near, waiting for him. He grimly waited, too. At last he
could stand the place no more. By the blackness, and the feel of the
air, night had arrived. He drew another breath, let go, and dived from
under. He cautiously rose to the surface; all was darkness. So he
swam upstream and landed on the east side.

He did not dare to linger, though. A mountain range enclosed the
valley, and he had to make it before daylight. He traveled on as fast
as possible, with his blistered feet and his sodden blanket and his
spearhead, for thirty miles, to a pass that he knew of.

However, the Blackfeet doubtless were before him, to cut him off in the
pass. There was nothing for him, but to climb the mountain here
instead of taking to the regular trail. Up he climbed, in the dark, by
such a steep route that he had to haul himself by grasping at the rocks
and brush and branches. Soon he was into snow. And when, at dawn, he
gained the crest of the ridge, he could go no farther. He might yet be
seen, and captured.

He lay here all day, aching and shivering and starved, with his wet
blanket wrapped around his naked shoulders; managed to chew on some
sappy bark, and swallow some tender tips; but that was poor fare. At
dusk he started down, to try for Manuel's Fort, northeast three hundred
miles across the open plain again.

That was a terrible journey, for a man in his shape. He had nothing
except his blanket and his spear-head; so he had to eat roots and bark.
He found enough _pommes blanches_ (whi