wn the wind to them.

"Let them curse," said Bela. "Cursin' won't catch us. Already they
rowin' half an hour. Get tire' soon."

"They've got a spare man to change to," Sam reminded her. He was now
as keen to give them the slip as Bela. The mainland ahead promised
freedom; not only freedom from his late masters, but freedom from her,
too.

Looking over their shoulders, they saw the steersman change to one of
the oars. Thereafter the rowboat came on with renewed speed, but the
dugout seemed to draw steadily ahead.

Sam's heart rose. Bela, however, searching the wide sky and the water
for weather signs, began to look anxious.

"What is it?" asked Sam.

"Wind goin' down," she replied grimly.

Sure enough, presently the heavy sail began to sag, and they could
feel the dugout lose way under them. They groaned involuntarily. At
the same moment their pursuers perceived the slackening of the wind
and shouted in a different key.

The wind freshened again, and once more died away. Now the dugout
forged ahead; now the rowboat began to overhaul them. It was nip and
tuck down the lake between sail and oars.

The shore they were making for began to loom nearer, but the puffs of
wind were coming at longer and longer intervals, and finally they ran
into a glassy calm, though they could see slants of wind all about
them, a situation to drive pursued sailors frantic.

Bela paddled manfully, but her single blade was no match for two long
oars. The sail was a handicap now. Bela had staked everything on it,
and they could not take it down without capsizing the dugout. The
oarsmen came rapidly, with derisive shouts in anticipation of a speedy
triumph.

"You've got your gun," muttered Sam. "You're a better shot than any of
them. Use it while you have the advantage."

She shook her head. "No shoot. Too moch trouble mak' already."

"Plug their boat, then," said Sam.

She still refused. "They die in cold water if boat sink."

"We might as well jump overboard, then," he said bitterly.

"Look!" she cried suddenly. "Wind comin', too!"

Behind the rowboat a dark-blue streak was creeping over the surface of
the lake.

"Ah, wind, come quick! Come quick!" Bela murmured involuntarily. "A
candle for the altar! My rabbit-skin robe to Pere Lacombe!"

At the same time she did not cease paddling.

The rowers saw the breeze coming, too, and, bending their backs, sent
the water flying from their oars. They managed to keep ahead of it.