ursue.

Under ordinary circumstances with a little start, she could easily
have beaten a horse to the river, but the head wind reversed the
chances. She might have landed on the flats, but there was not a
particle of cover there, and they would have offered a fair mark to
any one following by the trail. Moreover, Sam would have run away.

It was too rough for her to hope to escape across the lake in the
trough of the sea. So there was nothing for her but to continue to
struggle toward the river. A bank of heavy clouds was rising in the
east. It was to be a grey day.

After a while Sam looked over the edge again. The dugout seemed
scarcely to have moved. They were still but half-way across the wide
bay. On the lake side they were passing a wooded island out in the
middle. The wind was still increasing. It came roaring up the lake in
successive gusts. It was like a giant playing with them in cruel glee
before administering the _coup de grace_. Bela could no longer keep
the crests of the waves out. Sam was drenched and chilled.

He stole another look in her face. The imminence of the danger
threatening both forced his anger into the background for the moment.
She never changed her attitude except occasionally to swing the paddle
to the other side of the boat.

At the impact of each gust she lowered her head a little and set her
teeth. Her face had become a little haggard and grey under the long
continued strain. Sam chafed under his enforced inaction.

"You have another paddle," he said. "Let me help."

"Lie down," she muttered without looking at him. "You don' know how.
You turn us over."

He lay in water impotently grinding his teeth. He could not but admire
her indomitable courage, and he hated her for being forced to admire
her. To be obliged to lie still and let a woman command was a bitter
draft to his pride.

A wave leaped over the bow, falling in the dugout like a barrowful of
stones. Sam sprang to a sitting position. He thought the end had come.
The dugout staggered drunkenly under the additional load. But Bela's
face was still unmoved.

"Lean over," she commanded, nodding toward the little pile of baggage
between them. "Under the blankets, in the top of the grub-box, my
tea-pail."

He found it, and set to work with a will to bail. As fast as he
emptied the water, more came in over the bow. The foot of the lake and
safety seemed to recede before them. Surely it was not possible a
woman could hold ou