When Sam had passed out of sight around the willows, Bela, still shaken by sobs, went down on her hands and knees to search for the penknife she had spurned. Finding it, she kissed it and thrust it inside her dress.

Going to the dugout, she stretched out in it, and gave herself up to grief. Not for very long, however. Gradually the sobs stilled, and finally she sat up with the look of one who has something to do. For a long time thereafter she sat, chin in hand, thinking hard with tight lips and inward-looking eyes.

Sounds from around the bend above aroused her. She heard the working of an oar in its socket and the cautious voices of men. An alert look came into her face.

She glanced over the gunwale at her face in the water and disarranged her hair a little. Flinging herself down, she commenced to weep again, but with an altered note; this was self-conscious grief addressed to the ears of others.

The three men, finding her thus, gaped in boundless astonishment. It was anything but what they expected to find. They peered into the bushes for a sign of Sam.

"What the devil is the matter?" demanded Big Jack.

"Where is Sam?" cried Joe.

Bela answered both questions at once. "He leave me," she sobbed with heart-breaking effect.

"Left you?" they echoed stupidly.

"Gone away," wailed Bela. "Say he done with me for good!"

Black Shand and Jack were genuinely discomposed at the sight of her tears. Joe with more hardihood laughed.

"Serve you well right!" said he.

Big Jack had the oar. He drove the boat on the bank alongside the dugout, and they climbed out. Jack and Shand went up the bank.

"He can't have got far," said the former.

A wide sea of grass was revealed to them, stretching to pine ridges on the horizon. In all the expanse there was no sign of any figure, but the dense willows marking the tortuous course of the river provided plenty of cover both up and down stream.

"Which way did he go?" Jack called down.

"I don't know," said Bela. "Down river, I think."

Below, Joe, full of bitter jealousy, was still upbraiding Bela. Jack returned, scowling.

"Cut it out!" he said peremptorily. "I will get to the bottom of this." To Bela he said harshly: "What do you expect us to do for you, girl? You promised us a fair answer yesterday morning, and in the night you skipped with the cook."

Bela raised an innocent-seeming face.

"What you mean, skip?" she asked.

"Lit out, eloped, ran away," said Jack grimly.

"I never did!" she cried indignantly. "He carry me off."

They stared at her open-mouthed again.

"What I want wit' a cook?" she went on quickly. "I want marry a man wit' something. He is a bad man. He tak' me away. Now he say he done wit' me!" Tears threatened again.

They were only half convinced.

"How did it happen?" Jack demanded.

"In the afternoon he find my cache where I stay by the little creek," she said. "Talk to me lak a friend. I think all right. But in the night he come back when I sleepin' and tie my hands and my feet and my mouth, and throw me in my boat and tak' away! I hate him!"

"Then it was you we heard cry out?" exclaimed Joe.

"Sure!" she assented readily. "The handkerchief come loose. But soon he stop me."

"He did it just to spite us!" cried Joe furiously. "He didn't want her himself! I always said he had too proud a stomach for a cook. Worked against us at night like a rat! I warned you often enough!"

"Hold on!" said Big Jack, scowling. "There's more to this." He turned to Bela accusingly. "You were paddling the dugout when you came to the river yesterday. I saw you plain."

"Soon as the wind begin to blow he cut me loose," she said. "He can't mak' the boat go. He tak' my gun and point to me and mak' me paddle."

"The damned blackguard!" muttered Shand.

Jack was still unconvinced. "But to-day," he said, "when my oar busted you laughed. I was lookin' at you."

Bela hung her head. "He tak' me away," she murmured. "I t'ink he marry me then. I good girl. I think got marry him."

This convinced them all. They burst out in angry exclamations. It was not, however, for what they thought Bela had suffered. Each man was thinking of the wrong Sam had done him. Toward Bela their attitude had subtly changed. She was now a damaged article, though still desirable. Their awe of her was gone.

"I'll grind my heel in his face for this," snarled Joe. "I'll kill him slow!"

"Come on!" cried Shand. "We're losing time. He can't have got far."

Bela scrambled out of the dugout. "I tak' you where he is," she said eagerly. "I can track him in the grass. I can't catch him myself. But you got give him to me for punish."

"We'll attend to that for you, my girl," said Jack grimly.

"No blood!" she cried. "If he is kill for cause of me I get a bad name around. A girl can't have no bad name."

They laughed with light scorn. "You're done for already," Joe said.

"Nobody knows him," said Jack. "He'll never be missed. We'll take good care he ain't found, neither."

"The police will know," insisted Bela. "They can smell blood. Bam-by maybe you mad at each ot'er. One will tell."

This was a shrewd shot. The three scowled at each other furtively. There was no confidence between them.

"Well—what do you want to do?" asked Jack uneasily.

"I give him to the police," stated Bela eagerly. "They comin' up the river now. Come every year this tam. Then all will be known. It is not my fault he tak' me away. I good girl."

"Maybe she wants to get him to marry her," suggested Joe.

"No marry!" cried Bela with a fine assumption of anger. "He throw me down! Speak bad to me! I hate him! I want punish!"

"Sounds fishy somehow," muttered Jack, hesitating.

"You come wit' me," she said, shrugging. "See all I do."

"Maybe the idea is to get us away from the boat so he can sneak back and swipe it," suggested Joe.

"You foolish!" said Bela, with a glance of scorn. "You can walk to Johnny Gagnon's and get your horses. Let one man stay here to watch the boats."

"Come on!" cried Shand from the top of the bank. "Catch him first and decide what we'll do to him after."

"Go on," said Bela sullenly. "I not track him wit'out you give him me for punish."

"You swear you'll hand him over to the police," demanded Jack sternly.

"I swear it!" she replied instantly, looking him in the eye and holding up her hand.

"All right. Come on. I'm satisfied," assented Jack.

"Wait!" she said. "You promise to me you not hurt him. Give me your hand."

She forced all three to shake hands on it, Joe submitting with an ill grace.

"Now come on," said Shand impatiently.

"Leave your guns," commanded Bela. "Maybe he run. You get mad and shoot. I want no blood."

Jack scowled at her with reawakened suspicions. "I keep my gun by me," he growled.

"He got no gun," sneered Bela scornfully. "You 'fraid catch him wit' hands?"

"You said he had your gun," said Big Jack.

"He give it back," said Bela. "He is bad man; but no steal. My big gun, my little gun—see?" She exhibited them.

Jack knew that Sam owned no gun; still he was suspicious. "If you had your gun why didn't you plug him when he left you?" he demanded.

Bela paused for an instant. This was a poser, because in her heart she knew, supposing her story to be true, that she would have shot Sam. She had to think quickly. "I not want no blood," she murmured. "I 'fraid PÈre Lacombe."

It was well done. Big Jack nodded. "You leave your guns, too," he stipulated.

"Sure!" she said, willingly putting them in the dugout. "Leave one man to watch the boats and the guns. Two men and a woman enough to catch a cook, I guess."

They laughed.

Bela was playing for high stakes, and her faculties were sharpened to a sword-edge. Every look suggested the wronged woman thirsting for justice. She ostentatiously searched in her baggage, and drawing out a piece of moose-hide, cut it into thongs for bonds. Cleverer men than Big Jack and his pals might have been taken in.

"Boys, she's right!" cried Jack. "We don't want no blood on our hands to start off with, if we can see him punished proper. Shand, you stay here. Lead off, girl!"

Shand shrugged with a sour look, and came down the bank. It was always tacitly understood between him and Jack that young Joe was not to be trusted alone, so he submitted.

The other three started. Bela, making believe to be baffled for a moment, finally led the way up-stream. She went first at the rolling gait the Indians affect. The men were hard put to it to keep up with her over the uneven ground, for the grassy plain, which looked like a billiard-table, was full of bumps.

She kept her eyes on the ground. It was a simple matter for her to follow Sam's tracks in the grass, but the men, though they could see the faint depressions when she pointed them out, could never have found them unaided.

The tracks led them parallel to the general direction of the river, cutting across from point to point of the willows on the outside of each bend. On the horizon ahead was the pine-clad ridge that bounded the lower end of the lake. Jack-Knife Mountain rose over it. The sea of grass was dazzling in the sunlight.

Half an hour's swift walking gave them no glimpse ahead of their quarry.

"Waste too much time talking," said Bela.

"Well, you did the most of it," retorted Joe.

It was evident from the direction of the tracks that Sam was taking care to keep under cover of each point of the willows until he gained the next one. Each point afforded his pursuers a new survey ahead. Not until they had walked another half-hour at that gruelling pace were they in time to see a black spot just about to disappear ahead.

"Down!" cried Bela, and they dropped full length in the grass until it had gone.

Bela, springing up, led the way at a run across the intervening grass. She had to hold herself back for the men. Joe was too heavy to be a runner, and Jack was beginning to feel the handicap of his years.

Nearing the willows, she held up her hand for caution. They ran lightly in the grass. Neither man could see or hear anything; nevertheless Bela indicated by signs that the one they sought was just around the bushes. At the last moment she held back and let them go first.

Sam, having decided that the danger of immediate pursuit was over, was sitting on the ground eating his lunch when, without warning, Jack and Joe fell on him, bowling him over on his back. He struggled desperately, but was helpless under their combined weight. Joe, with a snarl, lifted his clenched hand over Sam's face. Big Jack held it.

"Not while he's down," he muttered.

Bela, following close, drew Sam's hands together and bound his wrists with her strips of hide.

Sam, seeing her, cried out: "You've sold me out again! I might have known it!"

Bela, fearing his words might start Jack thinking things over, cried out hysterically: "I got you now! You think you run away, eh? You done wit' me! You laugh w'en I cry. I fix you for that! I put you where you can't hurt no more girls!"

To Jack and Joe it seemed natural under the circumstances. Sam glared at her in angry amazement, and opened his mouth to reply. But thinking better of it, he set his jaw and kept quiet.

He submitted to superior force, and they immediately started back on the long walk to the boats. There was little said en route. Only Joe, unable to contain his rancour, occasionally burst out in brutal reviling. Sam smiled at him. More than once Big Jack was called on to restrain Joe's fist.

"A bargain is a bargain," he reminded him.

Bela, bringing up the rear, glared at the back of Joe's head with pure savage hatred. When any of them chanced to look at her, her face was wholly stolid.

Black Shand's face lightened as they brought Sam over the bank.

"So it was on the level," he remarked.

It was now some time past noon, and the word was given to eat before embarking. Sam, with his bound hands in his lap, sat on a great sod which had fallen from the bank above, and watched the others curiously and warily.

He had cooled down. So many things had happened to him during the past two days that his capacity for anger and astonishment was pretty well used up. He now felt more like a spectator than the leading man in the drama.

Finally, Bela, with a highly indifferent air, came to him with a plate of food which she put on his knees. Evidently he was expected to feed himself as best he could with his hands tied. Bela, avoiding his eyes, whispered swiftly:

"I your friend, Sam. Jus' foolin' them. Wait and see."

Sam laughed scornfully. The other men looked over, and Bela had to go back.

Sam had no compunction against eating their food. Scorning them all, he fully intended to get the better of them yet. Meanwhile he was wondering what had taken place between them. He could not interpret the relations between Bela and the three men. They were apparently neither friendly nor inimical.

Afterward a discussion arose as to their disposition between the two boats. The rowboat was not big enough to carry them all.

"Lay him in the dugout," Bela said indifferently. "I paddle him."

"No you don't," said Joe quickly. "He goes with the men."

"All right," said Bela, shrugging. "You come wit' me."

This arrangement pleased Joe very well, and by it Bela succeeded in parting him from Sam.

The two boats proceeded together down the smoothly flowing, willow-bordered stream. Shand and Jack took turns at sculling the larger craft, and Bela loafed on her paddle that they might keep up with her.

The view was as confined and unvarying as the banks of a canal, except that canals commonly are straight, while this watercourse twisted like Archimedes's screw. The only breaks in the endless panorama of cut-banks, mud-flats, willows, and grass were the occasional little inlets, gay with aquatic flowers.

Bela was most at home kneeling in the stern of her dugout. Joe, sitting opposite, watched her graceful action with a kindling eye.

"Drop behind a bit," he whispered. "I want to talk to you. Are you listening?"

She seemed not to have heard. Nevertheless the other boat drew away a little.

"Look here," Joe began with what he intended to be an ingratiating air, "this is a bad business for you. I'm not saying I blame you. Just the same your price has gone down, see? Do you get me?"

Bela lowered her eyes and watched the little whirl-pools in the train of her paddle. "I un'erstan'," she murmured.

"After an affair like this men look on a girl as fair game. I ain't saying it's right, but it's so. You want to look out for those other fellows now."

"I look out," said Bela.

"Come with me and I'll keep you from them," Joe went on, trying to speak carelessly; meanwhile his eyes were burning. "Of course, you can't expect me to marry you now, but I'll keep you in better style than you've ever known. There's nothing mean about me."

Bela raised her eyes and dropped them quickly. There was a spark in their depths that would have warned a man less vain than Joe. She said nothing.

"Well, is it a go?" he breathlessly demanded.

"I don't know," said Bela slowly. Her voice gave nothing away. "I got get married if I can."

"Who would marry you now?" cried Joe.

"I don't know. Somebody, I guess. Pretty near every man I see want marry me."

Joe sneered. "Not now! Not when this gets about."

"Maybe the big man want marry me," she suggested. "Or the black one."

Joe laughed scornfully. At the same time a horrible anxiety attacked him. Those two were old; they couldn't afford to be so particular as he. One of them might——

"Any'ow I not go wit' you now," said Bela. "Plenty time."

"You'd better look out for yourself," Joe burst out, "or you'll get in worse than you are already. You'll be sorry then."

"All right," she returned calmly.

Joe sat fuming. Anger and balked desire made his comely, brutal face look absurd and piteous. It was like a wilful child denied the moon. Joe could never resist his emotions. Whether or not Bela had guessed it, it was bound to come.

"Oh, hell!" he cried. "Look here, if Jack or Shand offer to marry you, I'll match them, see? Is that a go? You'd sooner have me, wouldn't you? I'm young."

Bela neither smiled nor frowned. "I think about it," she said.

"No you don't!" he cried. "You've got to promise now or I'll withdraw it!"

"I tell you somesing," said Bela, concealing the wicked sparkle in her eye. "I not want the big man. Not want the black man either. I tell you, if I marry any of the three, I tak' you."

Conceited Joe swallowed it whole. "I'm satisfied," he cried. "By George, I'd like to bind it with a kiss!"

"Look out, you turn us over," said Bela coolly. "The water moch cold."

Joe was quite carried away. "You beauty!" he cried. "Your skin is like cream. Your hair is like black velvet. You sit there as proud as a leading lady. I can't wait for you!"

"I ain't promise not'ing yet," said Bela warningly.

Johnny Gagnon's place was at the strategic point on Musquasepi where the forest ended and the meadows began. In the winter-time the freighters left the ice here, and headed straight across the bottom lands for the lake.

Gagnon kept a stopping-house for the freighters. It was the last house on the route to the head of the lake seventy-five miles away, excepting the shack at Nine-Mile Point, which had never been occupied until Big Jack and his party camped there.

Besides being a strategic point, it was one of those natural sites for a homestead that men pick out when there is a whole land to choose from. The bank rolled up gradually from the water's edge, and Gagnon's whole establishment was revealed from the river—dwelling, bunk-house, stable—all built of logs and crouching low on the ground as if for warmth.

The buildings had been there so long they had become a part of the landscape. The log walls were weathered to a silvery grey, and the vigorously sprouting sod roofs repeated the note of the surrounding grass.

On this particular afternoon there was something afoot at Johnny Gagnon's. The different members of the large family were running about like ants in a disturbed hill. A cloud of dust was issuing from the house door, propelled by a resolute broom.

Innumerable pails of water were being carried up from the river, and windows and children washed impartially. One of the big boys was burning rubbish; another was making a landing-stage of logs on the muddy shore.

In any other place such a spasm of house-cleaning need excite no remark, but among the happy-go-lucky natives of the north it is portentous. Clearly a festival was imminent.

Such was the sight that met the eyes of those in the rowboat and the dugout as they came around the bend above. Johnny Gagnon himself came running down to meet them. He was a little man, purely Indian in feature and colouring, but betraying a vivacity which suggested the French ancestor who had provided him with a surname.

The surname lasts longer than most white characteristics. It is a prized possession up north. If a man has a surname he votes.

Johnny was a vivacious Indian. Such anomalies are not uncommon on the border of the wilderness. His sloe-black eyes were prone to snap and twinkle, and his lips to part over dazzling teeth.

His hands helped out his tongue in the immemorial Latin style. Though he was the father of four strapping sons and several marriageable girls, not to speak of the smaller fry, time had left surprisingly few marks on him.

Johnny held up his hands at the sight of Sam, bound. He was delighted to have this additional excitement added to his brimming store.

"Wa! a prisoner!" he cried. "Good! we will have a trial. You must tell me all. You come back just right. Big tam! Big tam! Never was so much fun in my house before!"

"What's up?" asked Jack.

"Big crowd comin' to-morrow!" replied the excited Johnny Gagnon. "Trackin' up rapids to-day. Send a fellow up ahead ask my wife bake plenty bread."

"Who all is it?"

Johnny counted them off on his fingers: "Bishop Lajeunesse and two priests. Every year come to marry and baptize. That's three. Four, Indian agent. Him come pay Indians gov'ment money by the treaty. Got big bag money. Five, gov'ment doctor. He look at him for sick. It is in the treaty. Six, seven, Sergeant Coulson and 'not'er policeman. They go round wit' agent and ask all if any man do wrong to him. That is seven white men comin'! But wait! But wait! There is something else beside!"

"What?" asked Jack.

"A white woman!" announced Johnny triumphantly.

Bela frowned and stole a side glance at Sam. The men having lately come from the land of white women were not especially impressed.

"Only one white woman here before," Johnny went on. "Her comp'ny trader's wife. This her sister. Call Mees Mackall. Her old, but got no 'osban' at all. That is fonny thing I t'ink. Boys say all tam talk, laugh, nod head. Call her chicadee-woman."

Bela looked relieved at this description.

Sam, hearing of the expected company, smiled. Surely, with the law and the church at hand, an honest man had nothing to fear. He glanced at Bela a little triumphantly, but she made her face inscrutable to him.

Somewhat to his surprise he perceived that Jack and the other men were also pleased at the news. There was something here he did not understand.