twenty minutes later, as hubert stane returned along the river bank, he saw the girl emerge from the tent, and begin to arrange her own sodden attire where the heat of the fire would dry it. the girl completed her task just as he arrived at the camp, and stood upright, the rich blood running in her face. then a flash of laughter came in her grey eyes.
"well?" she asked, challenging his gaze.
"you make a very proper man," he answered, laughing.
"and i am as hungry as two!" she retorted. "i have eaten nothing for many hours. i wonder if——"
"what a fool i am," he broke in brusquely. "i never thought of that. i will do what i can at once."
without further delay he began to prepare a meal, heating an already roasted partridge on a spit, and making coffee, which, with biscuit he set before her.
"it is not exactly a savoy supper, but——"
"it will be better," she broke in gaily, "for i was never so hungry in my life."
"then eat! there are one or two little things i want to attend to, if you will excuse me."
"certainly," she replied laughingly. "it will be less embarrassing if there is no witness of my gluttony."
stane once more left the camp, taking with him a hatchet, and presently returned dragging with him branches of young spruce with which he formed a bed a little way from the tent, and within the radius of the heat from the fire. on this he threw a blanket, and his preparation for the night completed, turned to the girl once more.
"i never enjoyed a meal so much in my life," she declared, as she lifted the tin plate from her lap. "and this coffee is delicious. won't you have some, mr. stane?"
"thank you, miss a—miss——"
"yardely is my name," she said quickly, "helen yardely." he took the coffee as she handed it to him in an enamelled mug, then he said: "how did you come to be adrift, miss yardely?"
as he asked the question a thoughtful look came on the girl's beautiful face.
"i was making a little trip by myself," she said slowly, "to see a beaver dam in a creek a little below our encampment, and some one shot at me!"
"shot at you!" stane stared at her in amazement as he gave the exclamation.
"yes, twice! the second shot broke my paddle, and as i had no spare one, and as i cannot swim, i could do nothing but drift with the current."
"but who can have done such a thing?" cried the young man.
"i have not the slightest idea, unless it was some wandering indian, but i am quite sure it was not an accident. i saw the first shot strike the water close to the canoe. it came from some woods on the left bank, and i cried out to warn the shooter whom i could not see. it was about four minutes after when the second shot was fired, and the bullet hit the shaft of the paddle, so that it broke on my next stroke, and i was left at the mercy of the river."
"and no more shots were fired?"
"none!"
stane sat there with a very thoughtful look upon his face; and after a moment miss yardely spoke again.
"what do you think, mr. stane?"
he shook his head. "i do not know what to think, miss yardely," he said slowly, "but it looks as if the thing had been done deliberately."
"you mean that some one tried to kill me?"
"no, not that," was the reply. "you would offer too fair a mark for any one accustomed to handling a rifle to miss. i mean that there was a deliberate attempt to set you adrift in the canoe. the first shot, you say, struck the water near you, the second smashed your paddle, and after that there was no more firing. why? the only answer is that the shooter had accomplished his object."
"it certainly has that appearance," answered the girl. "but why should any one do a thing like that?"
"that is quite beyond me. it was so brutal a thing to do!"
"some roaming indian possibly," suggested miss yardely thoughtfully.
"but as you asked just now, why? indians are not so rich in cartridges that they can afford to waste them on a mere whim."
"no, perhaps not," said the girl. "but i can think of no one else." she was silent for a moment, then she added, "whoever did the vile thing frightened me badly. it is not nice to sit helpless in a canoe drifting out into such a wilderness as this." she waved her hand round the landscape as she spoke, and gave a little shudder. "you see i never knew what was coming next. i passed some islands and hoped that i might strike one of them, but the current swept me clear, and for hours i sat staring, watching the banks go by, and wondering how long it would be before i was missed; and then, i suppose i must have fallen asleep, because i remember nothing more until just before i was thrown into the water."
"it was a very fortunate thing you struck those rocks," said stane meditatively.
"fortunate, mr. stane? why?"
"because in all probability i should not have seen you if you had not; and a few miles below here, there are some bad rapids, and below them the river makes a leap downwards of nearly a hundred feet."
"a fall?" cried the girl, her face blanching a little, as she flashed a glance downstream. "oh, that would have been terrible! it was fortunate that you were here."
"very," he agreed earnestly, "and i am beginning to think that it was providential; though all day i have been cursing my luck that i should have been in this neighbourhood at all. i have no business here."
"then why——" she began, and stopped as if a little afraid that her question was too frankly curious.
it was so that stane understood the interrupted utterance. he laughed a little, and then answered:
"you need not mind asking, miss yardely; because the truth is that my presence in this neighbourhood is due to a mystery that is almost as insoluble as the one that brought you drifting downstream. on the night after you arrived at fort malsun, i was waiting at my tent door for—er—a man whom i expected a visit from, when i was knocked on the head by an indian, and when i came to, i found i was a prisoner, under sentence of deportation. we travelled some days, rather a roundabout journey, as i have since guessed, and one morning i awoke to find my captors had disappeared, leaving me with my canoe and stores and arms absolutely untouched."
"that was a strange adventure, mr. stane."
"so i think," answered stane with conviction.
"what do you think was the reason for your deportation?"
"i do not know," answered stane thoughtfully. "my chief captor said it was an order, but that may have been a lie; and such wildly possible reasons that i can think of are so inherently improbable that it is difficult to entertain any of them. and yet——"
he broke off, and an absent look came in his eyes. the girl waited, hoping that he would continue, and whilst she did so for one moment visioned miskodeed in all her wild barbaric beauty and her mind, recalling ainley's words upon the matter of the girl's relation to the man before her, wondered if there lay the reason. stane still remained silent, showing no disposition to complete his thought; and it was the girl who broke the silence.
"you say you were waiting for a man when you were seized, mr. stane; tell me, was the man gerald ainley?"
the young man was a little startled by her question, as his manner showed; but he answered frankly: "yes! but how did you guess that?"
helen yardely smiled. "oh, that was quite easy. you were the topic of conversation at the dinner-table on the very night that you disappeared; and i gathered that to the factor you were something of a mystery, whilst no one except mr. ainley knew anything whatever about you. as you and he were old acquaintances, what more natural than that you should be waiting for him? i suppose he did not come?"
"if he did, i never saw him—and i waited for him two nights!"
"two!" cried helen. "then he could not have wanted to come."
"i rather fancy he did not," replied stane with a bitter laugh.
"you wished to see him very much?" asked the girl quickly. "it was important that you should?"
"i wished to question him upon a matter that was important to me."
"ah!" said the girl in a tone that was full of significance. stane looked at her sharply, and then asked a question:
"what are you thinking, miss yardely?"
"oh, i was just thinking that i had guessed one of your wildly possible reasons, mr. stane; and to tell the truth, if mr. ainley was really anxious to avoid answering your questions, it does not seem to me so inherently improbable as you appear to think."
"what convinces you of that, miss yardely?"
"well," she replied quickly, "you say the indian told you that it was an order. i ask myself—whose order? there were very few people at fort malsun to give orders. i think of them in turn. the factor? you were a stranger to him! my uncle? he never heard of you except in gossip over the dinner-table the night you were deported. gerald ainley? he knew you! he had made appointments with you that he twice failed to keep—which, quite evidently, he had no intention of keeping. he had—may i guess?—some strong reason for avoiding you; and he is a man of some authority in the company and moving to still greater. he would not know the indians who actually carried you away; but factor rodwell would, and factors are only human, and sooner or later gerald ainley will be able to considerably influence mr. rodwell's future. therefore—well, q.e.d.! do you not agree with me?"
"i find your argument convincing," answered stane, grimly. then he lapsed into thoughtful silence, whilst the girl watched him, wondering what was in his mind. presently she knew, for most unexpectedly the young man gave vent to a short laugh.
"what a fool the man is!" he declared. "he must know that we shall meet again some time!... but, miss yardely, i am keeping you from your rest! we must start betimes in the morning if i am to take you back to your uncle."
"if you take me back——?"
"there is no question of that," he answered promptly. "i could not dream of leaving you here."
"i was about to say you would very likely meet gerald ainley. he has joined my uncle's party."
"so much the better," cried stane. "i shall certainly go."
there was a flash in his blue eyes, a grim look in his face, and instinctively helen yardely knew that the matter which lay between this man and gerald ainley was something much more serious than forced deportation. what it was she could not guess, and though after she had retired to the tent she lay awake thinking of the matter, when she fell asleep she was as far off as ever from anything that offered a solution of the question which troubled her. and outside, staring into the fire, his strong face the index of dark thoughts, hubert stane sat through the short night of the northland summer, never once feeling the need of sleep, reviewing from a different angle the same question as that which had perplexed the mind of the girl in the tent.
at the first hint of dawn, stane rose from his seat, gathered up the girl's now dry raiment, and put it in a heap at the tent door, then procuring a canvas bucket of water he set that beside the clothes and busied himself with preparing breakfast. after a little time helen emerged from the tent. her eyes were bright, her beautiful face was radiant with health, and it was clear that she was no worse for her experience of the day before.
"good morning, mr. stane," she said in gay salutation, "you are the early bird. i hope you slept well."
"may i reciprocate the hope, miss yardely?"
"never better, thank you. i think hunger and adventure must be healthful. i slept like the seven sleepers rolled into one; i feel as fresh as the morning, and as hungry as—well, you will see," she ended with a laugh.
"then fall to," he said, joining in the laughter. "the sooner the breakfast is over the sooner we shall start."
"i warn you i am in no hurry," she retorted gaily. "i quite like this. it is the real thing; whilst my uncle's camps are just civilization imposing itself on the wilderness."
"but your uncle! you must think of him, miss yardely. you have now been away an afternoon and a night. he will be very anxious."
"yes!" she said, "that's the pity of it. if it were not for that——" she broke off suddenly, gave a little laugh, and for no apparent reason her face flushed rosily. "but you must restore me to the bosom of my family soon!"
"more's the pity!" said stane to himself under his breath; his heart-beats quickening as he looked at her radiant face and laughing eyes; whilst openly he said: "i will do my best. you will be able to help me to paddle against the current, and no doubt in a little time we shall meet a search-party coming to look for you."
"then my little jaunt will be over! but you must not surrender me until you have seen my uncle, mr. stane."
stane laughed. "i will hold you against the world until then, miss yardely."
"and perhaps you will see gerald ainley, as you wish," she said, glancing at him to watch the effect of her words.
the laughter died swiftly from his face, and a stern light came into his eyes. "yes," he said grimly, "perhaps i shall. indeed that is my hope."
helen yardely did not pursue the matter further. again she glimpsed depths that she did not understand, and as she ate her breakfast, she glanced from time to time at her companion, wondering what was between him and ainley, and wondering in vain.
breakfast finished, they struck camp, launched the canoe and began to paddle upstream. the current was strong, and their progress slow, but after some three hours they arrived at the junction of the two rivers. then stane asked a question.
"which way did you come, miss yardely? down the main stream or the other one?"
the girl looked towards the meeting of the waters doubtfully. "i do not know," she said. "i certainly do not remember coming through that rough water."
"your uncle's party had of course travelled some way since i left fort malsun?"
"oh yes; we had made long journeys each day and we were well on our way to—wait a moment. i shall remember the name—to—to old fort winagog."
"winagog?" said stane.
"yes! that is the name. i remember my uncle mentioning it yesterday."
"then you came down the main stream for a certainty, for the old fort stands on a lake that finds an outlet into this river, though it is rather a long way from here. we will keep straight on. no doubt we shall strike either your uncle's camp or some search party presently."
as it happened the conclusion he reached was based on a miscalculation. the only waterway to old fort winagog that he knew was from the main river and up the stream that formed the outlet for the lake. but there was another that was reached by a short portage through the woods from the subsidiary stream from which he turned aside, a waterway which fed the lake, and which cut off at least a hundred and twenty miles. knowing nothing of this shorter route he naturally concluded that helen yardely's canoe had come down the main stream, and took the wrong course in the perfect assurance that it was the right one.
so hugging the left bank they passed the junction of the rivers, and a little further on crossed to the other side to seek shelter from a rising wind, under the high bank. and less than an hour later the canoe, carrying gerald ainley and his indian, swept out of the tributary stream into the broader current, and they drove downstream, unconscious that every stroke of the paddle was taking them further from the girl whom they sought.
