. She thinks she is going to the Mission,
and you needn't tell her otherwise until you get her aboard a steamer;
then take her, no matter what kind of a fight she puts up. You've got a
light-rowing skiff, and you'd better keep going till you're overtaken
by a down-river boat. I want her as far away from here as possible.
There's going to be some hell in this camp. Now, hike, and get yourself
ready."

"All right! But I ain't the safest kind of a chaperon for a
good-looking girl."

Stark laid a cold hand on Runnion's shoulder, close up to his neck.

"Get that out of your mind. She belongs to me."

"You said just now--"

"Never mind what I said. She's mine, and you've got to promise to be
straight with her. I've trusted you before, and if you're not on the
level now, say so. It will save you a lot of trouble."

"Oh! All right!" exclaimed Runnion, testily. "Only it looks mighty
queer."

He melted into the darkness and Stark returned to his cabin, where he
paced back and forth impatiently, smiling evilly now and then,
consulting his watch at frequent intervals. A black look had begun to
settle on his face, but it vanished when Necia came, and he met her
with a smile.

"I was afraid you had weakened," he said. "Everything is ready and
waiting. I've got the only canoe in the place, a Peterborough, and
hired a good oarsman to put you through, instructing him to make as
fast time as he can, and to board the first steamer that overtakes you.
Too bad this freighter that just got in isn't going the other way.
However, there's liable to be another any hour, and if one doesn't come
along you'll find enough blankets and food in the skiff, so you needn't
go ashore. You'll be there before you know it."

"You are very kind," said the girl. "I can't thank you enough." She was
clothed in her simple everyday dress, and looked again the sun-colored
half-breed girl with the wide, dark eyes and the twin braids of
crow-black hair.

"You didn't run into anybody, eh?"

She shook her head. Then he led her out into the darkness, and they
stumbled down to the river's-bank, descending to the gravelly water's
edge, where rows of clumsy hand-sawed boats and poling-skiffs were
chafing at their painters. The up-river steamer was just clearing.

Stark's low whistle was answered a hundred yards below, and they
searched out a darker blot that proved to be a man's figure.

"Is everything ready?" he inquired, at which the shadow grunted
unin