CHAPTER XIV
PURSUIT
Stonor sat down on a grub-box, and, gripping his bursting head betweenhis hands, tried to think. His throbbing blood urged him to gallopinstantly in pursuit. They could not have more than two hours' start ofhim, and Miles Aroon was better than anything they had in the way ofhorse-flesh, fresh into the bargain. But a deeper instinct was tellinghim that a little slow thought in the beginning brings quicker resultsat the end.
Even with only two hours' start they might make the village before heovertook them, and Imbrie might get away on the lake. A stern chase withall the hazards of travel in the wilderness might continue for days;Stonor was running short of grub; he must provide for their coming back;above all it was necessary that he get word out of what had happened;Clare's safety must not depend alone on the one mortal life he had togive her. Hard as it was to bring himself to it, he determined to get intouch with Tole before starting after Imbrie and the Kakisas.
To that end he mounted one of his poorer horses and galloped headlongback through the bush. After ten miles or so, in a little open meadow hecame upon the handsome breed boy riding along without a care in theworld, hand on hip and "Stetson" cocked askew, singing lustily of_Gentille Alouette_. Never in his life had Stonor been so glad to seeanybody. His set, white face worked painfully; for a moment he couldnot speak, but only grip the boy's shoulder. Tole was scared half out ofhis wits to see his revered idol so much affected.
All the way along Stonor had been thinking what he would do. It wouldnot be sufficient to send a message by Tole; he must write to JohnGaviller and to Lambert at the Crossing; one letter would do for both;the phrases were all ready to his pencil. Briefly explaining thesituation to Tole, he sat down to his note-book. Two pages held it all;Stonor would have been surprised had he been told that it was a model ofconciseness.
"JOHN GAVILLER and Sergeant LAMBERT, R.N.W.M.P.
"While returning with my prisoner Ernest Imbrie, suspected of murder, at a point on the Horse Track six miles from Swan River, a band of Indians from Swan Lake drove off my horses, and while I was away looking for them, rescued my prisoner, and also carried off the two women in my party. Am returning to Swan Lake now with four horses. Suppose that Imbrie reaching there will take to the lake and the upper Swan, as that provides his only means of getting out of the country this way. Suggest that Mr. Gaviller get this through to Lambert regardless of expense. Suggest that Lambert as soon as he gets it might ride overland from the Crossing to the nearest point on the Swan. If he takes one of his folding boats, and takes a man to ride the horses back, he could come down the Swan. I will be coming up, and we ought to pinch Imbrie between the two of us. The situation is a serious one, as Imbrie has the whole tribe of Kakisas under his thumb. He will stop at nothing now; may be insane. The position of the women is a frightful one.
"MARTIN STONOR."
Stonor took Tole's pack-horse with its load of grub, and the breed tiedhis bed and rations for three days behind his saddle. Stonor gripped hishand.
"So long, kid! Ride like hell. It's the most you can do for me."
* * * * *
Eight hours later, Stonor, haggard with anxiety and fatigue, and drivinghis spent horses before him, rode among the tepees of the village besideSwan Lake. That single day had aged him ten years. His second coming wasreceived with a significant lack of surprise. The Indians wereostentatiously engaged at their customary occupations: mending boats andother gear, cleaning guns, etc. Stonor doubted if such a picture ofuniversal industry had ever been offered there. Dismounting, he calledperemptorily for Myengeen.
The head man came to him with a certain air of boldness, that slowlywithered, however, under the fire that leaped up in the white man'sweary blue eyes. Under his savage inscrutability the signs of fidgetsbecame perceptible. Perhaps he had not expected the trooper to brave himsingle-handed, but had hoped for more time to obliterate tracks, and letmatters quiet down. Many a dark breast within hearing quailed at thesound of the policeman's ringing voice, though his words were notunderstood. The one determined man struck more terror than a troop.
"Myengeen, you and your people have defied the law! Swift and terriblepunishment awaits you. Don't think you can escape it. You have carriedoff a white woman. Such a thing was never known. If a single hair of herhead is harmed, God help you! Where is she?"
Myengeen's reply was a pantomime of general denial.
Stonor marched him back of the tepees where the Kakisas' horses werefeeding on the flat. He silently pointed to their hanging heads andsweaty flanks. Many of the beasts were still too weary to feed: one ortwo were lying down done for. Stonor pointed out certain peculiaritiesin their feet, and indicated that he had been following those tracks.This mute testimony impressed Myengeen more than words; his eyes bolted;he took refuge in making believe not to understand.
Stonor's inability to command them in their own tongue made him feelmaddeningly impotent.
"Where is the woman who speaks English?" he cried, pointing to his owntongue.
Myengeen merely shrugged.
Stonor then ordered all the people into their tepees, and such is thepower of a single resolute voice that they meekly obeyed. Proceedingfrom tepee to tepee he called out likely-looking individuals to bequestioned out of sight of the others. For a long time it was withoutresult; men and women alike, having taken their cue from Myengeen,feigned not to understand. Such children as he tried to question werescared almost into insensibility. Stonor began to feel as if he werebutting his head against a stone wall.
At last from a maiden he received a hint that was sufficient. She was acomely girl with a limpid brown eye. Either she had a soul above theKakisas or else the bright-haired trooper touched her fancy. At anyrate, when he looked in the tepee, where she sat demurely beyond hermale relatives, she gave him a shy glance that did not lack humanity.Calling her outside, he put the invariable question to her, accompaniedwith appropriate signs: where was the white woman?
She merely glanced towards the mouth of the creek where the canoes lay,then looked up the lake. It was sufficient. Stonor gave her a gratefulglance and let her go. He never knew her name. That the Kakisas mightnot suspect her of having betrayed them, he continued his questioningfor awhile. Last of all he re-interrogated Myengeen. He did not care ifsuspicion fell on him.
Stonor coolly picked out the best-looking canoe in the creek, and loadedaboard what he required of his outfit. Myengeen and his men sullenlylooked on. The trooper, seeing that a fair breeze was blowing up thelake, cut two poplar poles, and with a blanket quickly rigged mast andsail. When he was ready to start he delivered the rest of his outfit toMyengeen, and left his horses in his care.
"This is government property," he said sternly. "If anything is lostfull payment will be collected."
He sailed down the creek followed by the wondering exclamations of theKakisas. Sailing was an unknown art to them, and in their amazement atthe sight, like the children they were, they completely forgot thegrimness of the situation. Stonor thought: "How can you make such ascatter-brained lot realize what they're doing!"
Stonor had supposed that Imbrie would take to the lake. On arriving atthe brow of the last ridge his first thought had been to search itsexpanse, but he had seen nothing. Since then various indicationssuggested that they had between four and five hours' start of him. Hehad been delayed on the trail by his pack-horses. The speed he wasmaking under sail was not much better than he could have paddled, but itenabled him to take things easy for a while.
Swan Lake is about thirty miles long. Fully ten miles of it was visiblefrom the start. It is shaped roughly like three uneven links of a chain,and in width it varies from half a mile to perhaps five miles. It seemsvaster than it is on account of its low shores which stretch back, flatand reedy, for miles. Here dwelt the great flocks of wild geese or"wavies" that gave both lake and river their names.
As he got out into the lake the wind gradually strengthened behind him,and his canoe was blown hither and yon like an inflated skin on thewater. She had no keel, she took no grip of the water, and much of thegoodly aid of the wind was vainly measured against the strength ofStonor's arms as he laboured to keep her before it. When he did get thewind full in his top-heavy sail it blew him almost bodily under. Stonorwelcomed the struggle. He was now making much better time than he couldhave hoped for by his paddle. He grimly carried on.
In order to accommodate the two women and their necessary outfit, Stonorsupposed that Imbrie must have taken one of the dug-outs. He did notbelieve that any of the Kakisas had accompanied the fugitive. Theprospect of a long journey would appal them. And Stonor was pretty surethat Mary was not over-working herself at the paddle, so that it was nottoo much to hope that he was catching up on them at this rate. Thinkingof their outfit, Stonor wondered how Imbrie would feed Clare; theordinary fare of the Kakisas would be a cruel hardship on her. Such arethe things one worries about in the face of much more dreadful dangers.
It had been nearly six o'clock before Stonor left Myengeen's village,and the sun went down while he was still far from the head of the lake.He surveyed the flat shores somewhat anxiously. Nowhere, as far as hecould see, was there any promising landing-place. In the end he decidedto sail on through the night. As darkness gathered he took his bearingsfrom the stars. With the going-down of the sun the wind moderated, butit still held fair and strong enough to give him good steerage-way.After an hour or two the shores began to close around him. He could notfind the outlet of the river in the dark, so he drove into the reeds,and, taking down his sail, supped on cold bread and lake-water and laydown in his canoe.
In the morning he found the river without difficulty. It was a sluggishstream here, winding interminably between low cut banks, edged withdangling grass-roots on the one side and mud-flats on the other. Fromthe canoe he could see nothing above the banks. Landing to take asurvey, Stonor beheld a vast treeless bottom, covered with rank grass,and stretching to low piny ridges several miles back on either hand. Notell-tale thread of smoke on the still air betrayed the camp of the manhe was seeking.
He resumed his way. Of his whole journey this part was the mostdifficult trial to his patience. There was just current enough to mockat his efforts with the paddle. He seemed scarcely to crawl. It wasmaddening after his brisk progress up the lake. Moreover, each bend wasso much like the last that he had no sense of getting on, and theinvariable banks hemmed in his sight. He felt like a man condemned to atreadmill.
He had been about two hours on the river when he saw a little objectfloating towards him on the current that instantly caught his eyebecause it had the look of something fashioned. He paddled to it with abeating heart. It proved to be a tiny raft contrived out of severallengths of stout stick, tied together with strips of rag. On the littleplatform, out of reach of the water, was tied with another strip a rollof the white outer bark of the birch. Stonor untied it and spread it outon his knee with a trembling hand. It was a letter printed in crookedcharacters with a point charred in the fire.
WE WELL. HIM NOT HURT CLARE ENY. HIM SCAR OF CRAZEE CLARE SLEEP BY ME. HIM GOIN CROST /////
FROM MARY]
A warm stream forced its way into the trooper's frozen breast, and theterrible strained look in his eyes relaxed. For a moment he covered hiseyes with his arm, though there was none to see. His most dreadful andunacknowledged fear was for the moment relieved. Gratitude filled him.
"Good old Mary!" he thought. "She went to all that trouble just on thechance of easing my mind. By God! if we come through this all right I'lldo something for her!"
"Him scar of crazee," puzzled him for a while, until it occurred to himthat Mary wished to convey that Imbrie let Clare alone because hebelieved that her loss of memory was akin to insanity. This was wherethe red strain in him told. All Indians have a superstitious awe of theinsane. The sign at the end of the letter was for mountains, of course.The word, no doubt, was beyond Mary's spelling. What care andcircumspection must have gone to the writing and the launching of thenote! It must all have been done while Imbrie slept.
Stonor applied himself to his paddle again with a better heart. Aftertwo hours more he came to their camping-place of the night before. Itwas a spot designed by Nature for a camp, with a little beach of cleansand below, and a grove of willow and birch above. Stonor landed to seewhat tell-tale signs they had left behind them.
He saw that they were in a dug-out: it had left its furrow in the sandwhere it was pulled up. He saw the print of Clare's little common-senseboot in the sand, and the sight almost unmanned him; Mary's track wasthere too, that he knew well, and Imbrie's; and to his astonishmentthere was a fourth track unknown to him. It was that of a small man or alarge woman. Could Imbrie have persuaded one of the Kakisas to accompanyhim? This was all he saw. He judged from the signs that they had aboutfive hours' start of him.
From this point the character of the country began to change. Theriver-banks became higher and wooded; there were outcroppings of rockand small rapids. Stonor saw from the tracks alongshore that where thecurrent was swift they had towed the dug-out up-stream, but he had tostick to his paddle. Though he put forth his best efforts all day hescarcely gained on them, for darkness came upon him soon after he hadpassed the place where they spelled in mid-afternoon.
On the next day in mid-morning he was brought to stand by a fork in theriver. There was nothing to tell him which branch to choose, for thecurrent was easy here and the trackers had re-embarked. Both brancheswere of about equal size: one came from the south-east, one from dueeast; either might reach to the mountains if it was long enough. Stonorhad pondered on the map of that country, but on it the Swan River wasonly indicated as yet by a dotted line. All that was known of the streamby report was that it rose in the Rocky Mountains somewhere to the northof Fort Cheever, and, flowing in a north-westerly direction, roughlyparallel with the Spirit, finally emptied into Great Buffalo Lake.Stonor remembered no forks on the map.
He was about to choose at random, when he was struck by a difference inthe colour of the water of the two branches. The right-hand fork was aclear brown, the other greenish with a milky tinge. Now brown water, aseverybody knows, comes from swamps or muskegs, while green water is theproduct of melting snow and ice. Stonor took the left-hand branch.
Shortly afterwards he was rewarded by a sight of the spot where they hadmade their first spell of the day. Landing, he found the ashes of theirfire still warm; they could not have been gone more than an hour. Thiswas an unexpected gain; some accident of travel must have delayed them.Embarking, he bent to his paddle with a renewed hope. Surely by goingwithout a meal himself he ought to come on them before they finishedtheir second spell.
But the river was only half of its former volume now, and the rapidswere more brawling, and more tedious to ascend. However, he consoledhimself with the thought that if they held him back they would delay thedug-out no less. The river was very lovely on these upper reaches; inhis anxiety to get on he scarcely marked that at the moment, butafterwards he remembered its park-like shores, its forget-me-nots andraspberry-blossoms, and the dappled sunlight falling through theaspen-foliage. It was no different from the rivers of his boyhood in asheltered land, with swimming-holes at the foot of the little rapids:only the fenced fields and the quiet cattle were lacking above thebanks, and church-spires in the distant vistas.
Within an hour Stonor himself became the victim of one of the ordinaryhazards of river-travel. In a rapid one of his paddles broke in half;the current carried him broadside on a rock, and a great piece of barkwas torn from the side of his frail craft. Landing, he surveyed thedamage, grinding his teeth with angry disappointment. It meant the lossof all he had so hardly gained on the dug-out.
To find a suitable piece of bark, and spruce-gum to cement it with,required a considerable search in the bush. It then had to be sewed onwith needle and thread, the ed
ges gummed, and the gum given time to drypartly, in the heat of the fire. The afternoon was well advanced beforehe got afloat again, and darkness compelled him to camp in the spotwhere they had made their second, that is to say, the mid-afternoon,spell.
The next two days, his third and fourth in the river, were withoutespecial incident. The river maintained its sylvan character, though thebordering hills or bench were gradually growing higher and bolder.Stonor, by putting every ounce that was in him into his paddle, slowlygained again on the dug-out. He knew now that Imbrie, irrespective ofMary, had a second paddle to help him. It gave the dug-out an advantage,especially in swift water, that more than neutralized its extra weight.
By evening of the fourth day all signs indicated that he was drawingclose to his quarry again. He kept on until forced to stop by completedarkness. On this night the sky was heavily overcast, and it was as darkas a winter's night. He camped where he happened to be; it was a poorspot, no more than a stony slope among willows. He had done all hisnecessary cooking during the day, so there was no need to wait for hissupper.
The mosquitoes were troublesome, and he put up his tent, hastilyslinging it between two trees, and weighing down the sides and the backwith a few stones. To his tent he afterwards ascribed the preservationof his life. It was the simplest form of tent, known as a "lean-to," or,as one might say, merely half a tent sliced along the ridge-pole, with aroof sloping to the ground at the back, and the entire front open to thefire except for a mosquito-bar.
His bed was hard, but he was too weary to care. He lay down in hisblanket, but not to achieve forgetfulness immediately; strongdiscipline was still required to calm his hot impatience. How could hesleep, not knowing perhaps but that one more mile might bring him to hisgoal? Indeed, Imbrie's camp might be around the next bend. But he couldnot risk his frail canoe in the shallow river after dark.
Stonor was on the borderland of sleep when he was suddenly roused tocomplete wakefulness by a little sound from behind his tent. A woodsmansoon learns to know all the normal sounds of night, and this wassomething different, an infinitely stealthy sound, as of a body draggingitself an inch at a time, with long waits between. It seemed to beslowly making its way around his tent towards the open front.
Now Stonor knew that there was no animal in his country that stalkshuman prey, and he instantly thought of his two-legged enemy. Quick andnoiselessly as a cat he slipped out of his blankets, and rolling hisdunnage-bag in his place drew the blanket over it. In the faint lightreflected from the embers outside it might be supposed that he still laythere. He then cautiously moved the stones aside, and slipped out underthe wall of his tent on the side opposite to that whence the creepingsounds now came.
On hands and knees he crawled softly around the back of his tent,determined to stalk the stalker. He felt each inch of the way inadvance, to make sure there was nothing that would break or turn underhis weight. He could hear no sounds from the other side now. Roundingthe back of his tent, at the corner he lay flat and stuck his headaround. At first he could see nothing. The tall trees on the furthershore cut off all but the faintest gleam of light from the river. Alittle forward and to the left of his tent there was a thick clump ofwillow, making a black shadow at its foot that might have concealedanything. Stonor watched, breathing with open mouth to avoid betrayinghimself. Little by little he made out a shadowy form at the foot of thewillows, a shape merely a degree blacker than its background. He couldbe sure of nothing.
Then his heart seemed to miss a beat, for against the wan surface of theriver he saw an arm raised and a gun point--presumably at the dummy hehad left under the tent. Oddly enough his shock of horror was notprimarily that one should seek to kill him, Stonor; he was first of allappalled at the outrage offered to the coat he wore.
The gun spoke and flame leaped from the barrel. Stonor, gatheringhimself up, sprang forward on the assassin. At the first touch herecognized with a great shock of surprise that it was a woman he had todeal with. Her shoulders were round and soft under his hands; the gruntshe uttered as he bore her back was feminine. He wrenched the gun fromher hands and cast it to one side.
When she caught her breath she fought like a mad cat, with every lithemuscle of her body and with teeth and claws too. She was strong; strongand quick as a steel spring. More than once she escaped him. Once shegot half-way up the bank; but here he bore her down on her face andlocked her arms behind her in a grip she was powerless to break.
Jerking her to her feet--one is not too gentle even with a woman who hasjust tried to murder one--he forced her before him back to his tent.Here, holding her with one arm while she swayed and wrenched in herefforts to free herself, he contrived to draw his knife, and to cut offone of the stay-ropes of his tent. With this he bound her wriststogether behind her back, and passed the end round a stout trunk ofwillow. The instant he stood back she flung herself forward on the rope,but the jerk on her arms must have nearly dislocated them. It brought ashriek of pain from her. She came to a standstill, sobbing for breath.
Stonor collected dead twigs, and blew on the embers. In a minute or twohe had a bright blaze, and turned, full of curiosity to see what he hadgot. He saw a breed woman of forty years or more, still, for a wonder,uncommonly handsome and well-formed. The pure hatred that distorted herfeatures could not conceal her good looks. She had the fine straightfeatures of her white forebears, and her dusky cheeks flamed withcolour. She bore herself with a proud, savage grace.
More than the woman herself, her attire excited Stonor's wonder. It wasa white woman's get-up. Her dress, though of plain black cotton, was cutwith a certain regard to the prevailing style. She wore corsets--strangephenomenon! Stonor had already discovered it before he got a look ather. Her hair had been done on top of her head in a white woman'sfashion, though it was pretty well down now. Strangest of all, she woregold jewellery; rings on her fingers and drops in her ears; a showy goldlocket hanging from a chain around her neck. On the whole a surprisingapparition to find on the banks of the unexplored river.
Stonor, studying her, reflected that this was no doubt the woman he hadseen with Imbrie at Carcajou Point two months before. The Indians hadreferred to her derisively as his "old woman." But it was strange he hadheard nothing of her from the Kakisas. She must have been concealed inthe very tepee from which Imbrie had issued on the occasion of Stonor'sfirst visit to the village at Swan Lake. The Indians down the river hadnever mentioned her. He was sure she could not have lived with Imbriedown there. Where, then, had he picked her up? Where had she been whileImbrie was down there? How had she got into the country anyway? The morehe thought of it the more puzzling it was. Certainly she had come fromfar; Stonor was well assured he would have heard of so striking apersonage as this anywhere within his own bailiwick.
Another thought suddenly occurred to him. This of course would be thewoman who had tried to decoy him out of his camp with her cries for helpin English. At least she explained that bit of the all-envelopingmystery.
"Well, here's a pretty how-de-do!" said Stonor with grim humour. "Whoare you?"
She merely favoured him with a glance of inexpressible scorn.
"I know you talk English," he said, "good English too. So there's no usetrying to bluff me that you don't understand. What is your name, tobegin with?"
Still no answer but the curling lip.
"What's the idea of shooting at a policeman? Is it worth hanging for?"
She gave no sign.
He saw that it only gratified her to balk his curiosity, so he turnedaway with a shrug. "If you won't talk, that's your affair."
He had thrown only light stuff on the fire, and he let it burn itselfout, having no mind to make of himself a shining mark for a bullet fromanother quarter. He lit his pipe and sat debating what to do--or ratherstruggling with his desire to set off instantly in search of Imbrie'scamp. Knowing it must be near, it was hard to be still. Yet better sensetold him he would be at a fatal disadvantage in the dark, particularlyas Imbrie must now be on the alert.
There was no help for it. He mustwait for daylight.
He knew that above all he required sleep to fit him for his work nextday, and he determined to impose sleep on himself if will-power could doit. As he rose to return to his tent a sullen voice from the directionof the willow-bushes spoke up in English as good as his own:
"The mosquitoes are biting me."
"Ha!" said Stonor, with a grim laugh. "You've found your tongue, eh?Mosquitoes! That's not a patch on what you intended for me, my girl! Butif you want to be friends, all right. First give an account ofyourself."
She relapsed into silence.
"I say, tell me who you are and where you came from."
She said, with exactly the manner of a wilful child: "You can't make metalk."
"Oh, all right! But I can let the mosquitoes bite you."
Nevertheless he untied her from the willows and let her crawl under hismosquito-bar. Here he tied ankles as well as wrists, beyond anypossibility of escape. It was not pure philanthropy on his part, for hereflected that when she failed to return, Imbrie might come in search ofher, and take a shot inside his tent just on a chance. For himself hetook his blanket under the darkest shadow of the willows and coveredhimself entirely with it excepting a hole to breathe through.
He did succeed in sleeping, and when he awoke the sky was clear and thestars paling. Before crawling out of his hiding-place he took a carefulsurvey from between the branches. Nothing stirred outside. Under histent his prisoner was sleeping as calmly as a child. Apparently afrustrated murder more or less was nothing to disturb her peace of mind.Stonor thought grimly--for perhaps the hundredth time in dealing withthe red race: "What a rum lot they are!" He ate some bread that he hadleft, and began to pack up.
The woman awoke as he took down the tent over her head, and watched hispreparations in a sullen silence.
"Haven't you got a tongue this morning?" asked Stonor.
She merely glowered at him.
However, by and by, when she saw everything being packed in the canoe,she suddenly found her tongue. "Aren't you going to feed me?" shedemanded.
"No time now," he answered teasingly.
Her face turned dark with rage. "You hangman!" she muttered savagely."You've got a hangman's face all right! Anybody would know what you arewithout your livery!"
Stonor laughed. "Dear! Dear! We are in a pleasant humour this morning!You believe in the golden rule, don't you?--for others!"
When he was ready to start he regarded her grimly. He saw no recoursebut to take her with him, thus quadrupling his difficulties. He didconsider leaving her behind on the chance of returning later, but hecould not tell what hazards the day might have for him. He might beprevented from returning, and murderess though she were, she was human,and he could not bring himself to leave her helpless in the bush. Shestolidly watched the struggle going on in him.
He gave in to his humanitarian instincts with a sigh. As a finalprecaution he gagged her securely with a handkerchief. He wished to takeno chances of her raising an alarm as they approached Imbrie's camp. Hethen picked her up and laid her in the canoe. She rolled the light craftfrom side to side.
"If you overturn us you'll drown like a stone," said Stonor, grinning."That would help solve my difficulties."
After that she lay still, her eyes blazing.
Stonor proceeded. This part of the river was narrow and fairly deep,and the current ran steadily and slow. Through breaks in the ranks ofthe trees he caught sight from time to time of the bench on either hand,which now rose in high bold hills. From this he guessed that he had gotback to the true prairie country again. As is always the case in thatcountry, the slope to the north of the river was grassy, while thesoutherly slope was heavily wooded to the top.
He peered around each bend with a fast-beating heart, but Imbrie's campproved to be not so near as he had expected. He put a mile behind him,and another mile, and there was still no sign of it. Evidently the womanhad not made her way through the bush, as he had supposed, but had beendropped off to wait for him. After giving him his quietus she had nodoubt intended to take his canoe and join her party. Well, it wasanother lovely morning, and Stonor was thankful her plan had miscarried.
The river took a twist to the southward. The sun rose and shot his beamshorizontally through the tree-trunks, lighting up the underbrush with astrange golden splendour. It was lovely and slightly unreal, likestage-lighting. The surface of the river itself seemed to be dusted withlight. Far overhead against the blue, so tender and so far away at thislatitude, eagles circled and joyously screamed, each one as if he had anintermittent alarm in his throat.
In the bow the woman lay glaring at him venomously. Stonor could nothelp but think: "What a gorgeous old world to be fouled with murder andhatred!"
At last, as he crept around an overhanging clump of willows, he saw whathe was in search of, and his heart gave a great leap. Arresting hispaddle, he clung to the branches and peered through, debating what todo. They were still far off and he had not been perceived. Withstraining eyes he watched the three tiny figures that meant so much tohim. Unfortunately there was no chance of taking Imbrie by surprise, forhe had had the wit to choose a camping-place that commanded a viewdown-stream for half a mile. Stonor considered landing, and attemptingto take them from the rear, but even as he looked he saw Imbrie loadingthe dug-out. They would be gone long before he could make his way roundthrough the bush. There was nothing to do but make a dash for it.
They saw him as soon as he rounded the bend. There was a strangedramatic quality in the little beings running this way and that on thebeach. Stonor, straining every nerve to reach them, was neverthelessobliged to be the witness of a drama in which he was powerless tointervene. He saw Imbrie throw what remained of his baggage into thedug-out. He saw the two petticoated figures start running up the beachtowards him, Stonor. Imbrie started after them. The larger of the twofigures dropped back and grappled with the man, evidently to give theother a chance to escape. But Imbrie succeeded in flinging her off, and,after a short chase, seized the other woman. Stonor could make out thelittle green Norfolk suit now.
Mary snatched up a billet of wood, and as the man came staggering backwith his burden, she attacked him. He backed towards the dug-out,holding Clare's body in front of him as a shield. But under Mary'sattacks he was finally compelled to drop Clare. She must have fainted,for she lay without moving. Imbrie closed with Mary, and there was abrief violent struggle. He succeeded in flinging her off again. Hereached the dug-out. Mary attacked him again. Snatching up his gun, hefired at her point-blank. She crumpled up on the stones.
Imbrie picked up Clare and flung her in the dug-out. He pushed off. Allthis had been enacted in not much more time than it takes to read ofit. Stonor was now within a furlong, but still helpless, for he darednot fire at Imbrie for fear of hitting Clare. The dug-out escaped out ofsight round a bend.
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