The evening world. Newspaper, May 16, 1916, Page 15

eon Lura of the Copyright, the Frank A, Munsey Co, F PRECEDING, CHAPTERS, . Northland! dell witht wt and Ing me a chante pds to defend tnysbif condemn me for eomething J fr hi ‘Halt reo in ft k ol wines o ts Ip 8 My hams is Merton Boyd. 1 live Rpaely mors tae ie ‘at ws day in Boston, I have lived there all my be stati a iret a fe. never was in this country, x ‘ ber never heard of it, until two othe ago. I told you why Icame. It is ee retest serach Sich de Sat na eee CHAPTER ‘Ill. 3 (Continued.) A. Reprieve. : IND then, after they had left him, they had redlized that there still remained a pos- sibility that he would live. Rather than run such a chance, they had decided to take him with them, but with the determina- tion that he never would escape to give them trouble. Meanwhile the cance had turned a point and etarted across @ second atretch of water. On the opposite ehore there was the twinkle of a light. In fifteen minutes the cance had ‘grated on a sand beach. “E11 see him firet, Charley,” sald the bowman as he climbed the bank. Soon there was a low whistle, and Merton was led to the lighted build- ing. A door was opened and he was shoved inside. It Wag not the room in which he found himself that startled him, nor was it the figure of the man who sat @t @ table across the stove. It was the man’s face that held his auention. The first glance had, pro: claimed him to be @ woodsman. He was dressed as a woodstnan. ry was dark from the sun and tHe wind, and his bands were big, rough and hardened. As he sat in the chair his thick body and capable arms and lege were in perfect repose, but the repose was that of a sloéping cat. There was & suggestion, even in the perfect re- laxation of the muscles, of power an quickness instantly available. . Like bis body, the man s face seemed in. repose, all except the eyes. These were not the eyes of a man of action, of & man who had spent much time in the open. Neither were they the eyes # man who evades the law. wey Were honest enough, but above all else they were the eyes of a zealot, the e$es of & man Who has lived for one thing, of @ man whos dream sur- Vives the utmost discouragement, And mingled with, but not quench- ing, this fire of @ great zeal, was the coid expression of authority and of immovable purpose, Merton, as he eaw this, wondered why this man’s eyes seemed fainiliar. He had seen eyes like them, eyes in Which firmness of purpose drove out @ll else. Suddenly he remembered the girl as she appeared when she found the envelope. Her eyes were dike this inan’s, Merton had halted in the middle of the room, The man remained adient. de did not move, only looke@ steadily at his visitor, The warmth of the stove drew Mer- tom closer, and he held his numbed fingers in the heat, “Can I have @ drink of whiskey?” he suddenly asked. “I'm nearly frozen, and i haven't had anything to cal since yesterday goon.” “A cup of tea will do you as much gvod,” replied the man coldly, “We have no whiskey. There never has been whiskey in this place or the others.” He paused, as if to permit this to sink in, but to Merton there was no significance in the tone until he thought of the casks hidden on the island, any “That is one thing in which "you will be disappointed,” the man in the chairswent on, “I might add that you will bo digappointed in every- thing.” “But surely there are some Who will take me out tot eried Merton anxiously, out at once.” “To the railroad?” asked the other with just the trace of a sneer in his question, “Ot course,” retorted Merton. “That is where I was bound when 1 was lost and that's where I want to go. I know of no reason why I should want to stay around here.” “No, nor I, But under the cir- cumstances you must. I may as well anaké things plain now, young man, i admire your courage and I do not grudge you your success so far. But we may as well understand each other, Then there need be no dim. culty. I know perfectly why you are here, what you came fo’ You have not been the first. You must have known the risks, what has hup- pened in the past. "You are surely aware of what may happen, “But I'm going to give mon railroad!” you a chance and it will rest solely with you. If your men are near here you will be taken to them to-night. Wo'll see that you leave the coun try at once. You need not promis: “Hut f have no idea where my party is," interrupted Merton, “It is three days now since I was lost.” “But surely you know where you were when you last saw them,” “No,” confessed Merton boldly. “I never did know the name of the lak Lawrie took care of that.” is Lawrie?” y friend, Lawrie Sal- n with whom I took the Vho is Where did you go “L don't remember the names of the lakes and rivers. Moat of them were indian, and T never did learn to pro- ngunee them.” “Do you mean that you have bean in this country two mohths and don't know where you went or where you The man's eyes were no longer those of a dreamer. They were cold, searching, and there was a flash of exclaimed Merton, stepping closer to the stove and lean- ing across it toward the man in the chair, “You are making the aame mistake the others did. You suspect Bok “1 must get { truth, as is everything ‘I have you. “TL am, tired of these suspicions. 1 ) prove all I have sald, and I want to. gét out. I don’t care” an: about you or the others. Give me a man, or men, to get me to the ratl- road, and you'll get rid of me in the quickest and castest way: And pay whatever you ask for the trip.” ‘The man in the chair'did not move ~or change his expression. “There aré two feasons why you ‘will not go out,” he replied calmly. “Tn the first plade, tt is a ph impossibility to reach the railroad before the ice om the Jarger dakes. In the second place; no proof you could presént would change my Gecisiog. Whether you are what you say, or what I suspect, my course will be the same. We never take a chance, and will not in your case.’ ‘What right have you to decide what I ehall do or shall not do?” de- manded Merton, now thoroughly @roused, “I am satisfied that T have the right. You may contest it if you wish. But,” and there was @ signifi- cant pause, I was about to ad- vise you, be careful what you do. I am inclined to be lenient, because there may be a doubt as to you. mis- sion here. As I said; T admire your courage in coming, and the ingenuity ve displayed. But until some- else occura you will do as I “Do you mean,” cried Merton, “that Tam to be a prisoner?” “After a fashion, yes. While you are here you are. under iy orders. Your safety will depend upon what you do while you are with us. Ons suspicious action, and it is: the end. Do you- understand?” Merton only stared incredulousty. }d,"" the other went on, you may learn me of the thin you cams to learn, but you will never wish to make use of thm. I am merely offering you a chg >, and I do not demand any prot ses. We over. peed them,” he / .ded ‘imty. bas fs nonsense!" cried 3B srton. “T tell you, you are wrong! You have made a mistak: never make the one mistak “When do you intend to let me go Il haven't decided that. Should I make auch a decision, it will be at lengt two mon J * “Two. month: exclaimed Merton ina panic. ‘Do you mean th 1 will havé:to stay here that long ‘There was such sincere distress in his tone that the stranger looked at him sharply. Then he turned his eyes toward the stove dnd thought a moment. “Young man,” he began finally, “I always try to ‘be fair, If I seem to be unfair to you it is because I am only being fair to my people. I will always protect them at the expense of any one else. In this case I feel Justified in taking a chance. If you speak the truth, you are different from any man lever saw. Perhaps there are such mén. I have no means of knowing. I will take the chance that you are truthful, but we will maintain the same watch, the same cautions, and the first indication of bad faith on your part means the end. It will be for you to decide. T will give you your liberty, within certain bounds, and in return for the food and other stance we will give you we will expect you to give us a day's work each day.” “IT will pay for anything I receive,” Merton sald stiffly. “It is better for you to take what 1s offered to you here. You will go to work to-morrow, Work is not something we will force upon you, It is an alternative and"—he paused significantly—"you will accept it.” CHAPTEK IV. The Rapids. ERTON was about to reply when the door opened and the girl of the canoe stepped Into the room, “Supper is ready, father, she announced. Merton was not surprised to see her. He knew she must. have told the two men of him, But as she stood in the door, looking aj him steadily, he marveled at her self-possession. She was entirely without embarrassment, and did not show in any way that she was surprised or disappointed to find before her the man ehe had left to die. Neither was there any hint of rémorse for her action. “Lura, allow me to present: Mr Merton Boyd of Boston,” sald the man, who had risen quickly when the girl entered. Mertom whirled to face him, aston- ished by the courtly manner and tone of this man who appeared to be a woodsman, ‘Then, the only one who showed confusion, he turned to ac- knowledge the introduction, “My name is Adam Herson,” went on the father, “Lura, Mr, Boyd will remain with us for a time, He un- dersiands the, conditions of our hos- pltality and T anticipate that we will get along agreeably, Come, young man, you are hungry.” They followed the girl to the joining building, whore the ¢ were eating. Herson intro as Charley McGirr and Andrew Boul- ter, repeating what he had told the gitl, ‘Themen merely stared at Mer- ton a moment and then continued their meal. The girl and her father evidently had eaten, and they left the cabin. hey will show you where you will "said Herson as he opened the door. Vor a few minutes Merton gave all hin attention to the food placed be- fore ‘him, After he had taken the edge off his ravenous hunger he be- gan to think of what had been said to. him in the other cabin. More and more he was impressed with the in- justice of his treatment. More and more his wonder grew as to what sort of band had him in its power and why ‘the was a prisoner, At last, In his perplexity, he turned to Andrew Boul ter, | Can You HE iS So. CLEVE! HE IS ALMOST ‘ THE PRECIOUS LITTLE Pet} Beat It? HE SAYS HE LIKES R. | Wonest Face’ —— THe Treasure! HE IS SINGING ” HOME HONE” in D mare awGttha, By Maurice Ketten No i Sin FOR The GENTLEMAN 9 “Who does this man think I am, and why should I be treated as if I were @ criminal?” he demanded. Boulter glanced up, a fork poised betore his open mouth. He looked Merton over critically, and then con- tinued his eating. “He has told you all that he want you to know, I guess,” he finally an- swered. “Anyhow, he told you all you will know. You might well under- etand that now as late: There was a finality in hfs tone, a hint of the hostility shown in the canoe, that put an end to Merton's Proposed line of questioning. A few minutes later the meal was finished and Boulter silently led him to a rear room, Where four bunks were ar- ranged, : “That's yours," be said shortly, pointing to one in the corner. Then he turned and went out. Whatever the mental distress of the young man, his bodily weariness Was such that sleep almost imme- diately brought oblivion. It seemed only a couple of hours before Boul- tor was shaking him. “Get up," he commanded. others are eating.” Merton entered the large room to find Herson, Lura, the two 108- men and Ne-bau-be-nis at the table. Boulter nodded toward a pail of water and a wash basin in the cor- ner. The others did not look up. Merton was still eating when they finished, First Herson arose and left the room, Immediately MeGirr followed. Lura went to a window near the door and looked out, It was still dark, but as she became ac- “The ing together just outside the door, She could not hear what they sald, but her face was troubled as she turned to Boulter, who had begun to remove the dishes and wash them. “Are you going, Andy?" she asked, “He thought I should stay,” was the rv This lad's going with Charle: As Merion glanced up he found her guzing at lim speculatively. She looked squarely at him and yet past him and her face was troubled. she was about to speak to Boulter again when Herson opened the door. “Come,” he called. "We're ready. You will go with us to-day, Boyd None of the courtliness of manner remained. He was sharp, quick, a man of action, Merton shivered Lura outside. It was still dark and very cold. From the water he heard repeated blows as though some one were smashing windows. The others were half way down to the water, and Merton followed to find the Indlan in the bow of a canoe, long pole in his hands, breaking a channel through fifty feet of shore ice to the open water of the lake. When Merton hace arrived the night before there had been no lee, If that much would form in one night, what might happen in a few more? Whatever courage he had regained vanished {m- mediately, He was wholly in the power of these people, as helpless as he had been when wandering in the forest, “Grab the bow, there,” growled Me- from one end of the big canoe in which Merton had come to the place the night before Following so quickly upon the sud- den sinking of his spirits, the bully- tng command found Merton without resistance. But neither did he obey. He was in the grip of a feeling of utter helplessness. Herson, who with Lura and the Ine as he followed ~ dian were already pushing through the cnannel, turned, “Do as he says, Boyd," he called. “You are working with McGirr to- day.” Listlessly the young man lifted the bow of the canoe and stumbled down to the water, “Get in, quick,” commanded Mc- Girr as he shoved the craft through the broken ice, The next few hours were hardly pleasanter to Merton than his wan- dering alone in the forest had been. Constantly he was driven by MoGirr to greater efforts as the woodeman saw that his bullying attitude did not arouse resistance, ice they made short portages, and the sharp bow of the heavy canoe cut cruelly into his shoulder. At the end of the third portage Merton stumbled through a swamp to the bank of a river, The others were just pushing off. For an hour there was a quick, dashing journeye down the ewift stream. Then the hills on either side began to draw together, the river to increase its pace. Then they sud- denly entered a gorge where the etream was narrowed by high, straight walls of rock, 4 Lura, who had been paddling from the centre of the canoe ahead, placed her paddle beneath the gunwales and settled down to the bottom of the canoe, Merton saw the Indian cease paddling for a moment while he ad- dusted himself more firmly én the stern, Then he looked ahead and saw the reason. The river seemed fairly to run down hill, The incline and the narrow walls increased the speed. Beyond great waves tossed and were broken into white spray. “Keep paddling!" shouted McGirr the atern as the cance shot for- ward, For 200 yards the gorge was straight. Then the canoe abead dis appeared around @ bend. The next moment Merton, too, had reached it, In front of him the river ran more swiftly than before, and squarely in the center of the Stream rose a large boulder, * Inatinetively Merton stopped pad- dling and looked afound at McGirr, ‘Were they all mad to attempt such a thing? “Keep paddling!" shouted the woodsman, who was himself shoot- ing the canoe ahead with all the power of his armi Merton turned. The other canoe, dancing from one white-crested wave to another, now almost buried in the foam, now rising nearly olear from the water, was dashing down the torrent straight for the big boulder, There the water seemed fairly torn to vapor ag it struck the huge, im- movable obstacle, on either side hed, slapping, tearing, roaring in its fury. The next instant the canoe ahead moved sharply over to the left with- out turning, passed the boulder like an arrow and then was shooting down the smooth atretch of deep, swift current beyond, Lura etill sat in the middle, Her- son and the Indian still paddled. They were safe, ad of turning quickly to But i the left, as had the firat canoe, they shot over to the right, In the boil- ing water Merton stopped paddling and, hands gripping the gunwales, Waited for the end, As they passed the greater boulder a huge wave rose under them and, for 4 moment, stopped the wild rush of the cance The big craft was Against the walls s picked up as though it were a feather und fifted bodily toward the right bank of the stream. Merton instinctively put out his hand to keep the side from strikin, @ ledge of rock on the bank. For an instant the craft hung there, poised on the crest of a wave. Then it tipped violently, the bow pitched downward, and the wild Tace was on again, Merton had a vision of the other canoe, swinging in the big eddy be- low him; of Lura, sitting in the cen- ter, looking back. He saw her etart forward, saw her lips frame a cry, Herson and the Indian turned to look back. The next instant everything was blotted out by a rush of water. The canoe was gone, He was in the river, Merton gasped as the toe-cold waves closed over him. Every mus- cle was contracted, and his chest was pressed as though by bands of iron. Then he struggled, or attempt- ed to, But against the tearing cure rent he was powerless, and he was swept on. Lura had seen everything that hap- pened, and it was her own paddle that turned the leading canoe and backed it up so that it was directly at the bottom of the chute. It was her band that reached over the side and grasped the hair that appeared for an instant beneath the surface, It was her voice that gave the order to paddle ashore, and it was her arm that lifted Mer- ton'’s face above the water and held it there, Merson and the Indian worked quickly, silently, once they were on shore. ‘They shook the water from Merton and began at once to remove his clothing. Lura, as soon as they landed, had begun to collect wood @ fire, In @ moment she had @ blaze going. “There is no blanket,” she said as she turned to her fat) “Ll go after the other canoe while you get his clothes off.” The shock of the cold water aione had dazed Merton, and ax soon as his clothes were off and his skin had deen rubbed dry by the rough hands of Herson and Ne-bau-be-nis be was able to rise and stand, shivering, be- aide the fire, the others wrung out his clothes and chen thrust sticks into the moss on which to dry thea. “Better put them on now,” sug- Rested Herson after a few minutes. “Phey'll dry more quickly on you, and we can’t wait.” ‘The leader clearly was angry, and he turned to the river to see how Lura was coming in her.pursutt of the other canoe, Merton looked around for MeGirr, For the first tine he thought of the with some confusion to the river. In a second the girl was at bis side. She whispered few words d be stopped and wheeled defensively. ‘I did not!" he cried in a low voice. ‘He swung the bow.” Lura, laughed. “And you a canoeman!" she sald as she returned to the fire. As each time he had watched thesq strange people before, Merton felt that there was something still deeper be- neath the surface that he did not un- derstand. Not CC By] there an un- explainable euspicion of him, but be- tween these people themselves was a restraint, something they tried to hide from each other as much as from him, CHAPTER V. * The Warning. paeete HERE was no other incident in the morning's journey. At noon the leading canoe disappeared around a point. ‘When McGirr and Merton reached it the others were climbing the bank at the end of @ bay to a row of five log buildings set in the middle of a large clearing. Ten minutes later McGirr led Mer- ton into @ room in which the three In the first cance were cating. A large woman, her face ruddy and good- Matured, was waiting on them. She looked at Merton with frank curiosity, but in her eyes waa the first kindness the had found. “Bit here, iad,” she called, indi- cating a place beside Herson. Merton was atill eating when the others had fl Herson, Ne-bau- be-nis and t MoGirr rose and left the room. The woman who had waited on them retired to the kitchen and Lure took her place. “Now that you have pulled me out of the river I suppose you fevl that my life belongs to you still,” eaid Merton, ag she stood across from him. could have done it,” coldly. I just hap- where I oould reach she answered, pened to be As he huddled over it ¥% “But you just happened to find mo on the lake shore that day “That was different and, besides, I was acting on my own initiative then, Now I am at headquarters and T have no power, ‘Phat reste with my father,” “Will you please tell ma what he suspects I ain, why | should be treat- ed more as a prisoner than a person merely in temporary distress? L don't understand it and he seems to take it for granted that I know,” other man in tho cance. Had he been °, “Whatever father says will be car- Af he fluished dressing he Tied outs Newhart Doe drive the smaller canoe up a nia through the whirlpool and to the op- He's here. As for his suspi posite bank, Above her, smoking & pipe, his clothes perfectly dry, was McGirr. As she landed he stepped in, and they paddled back to the fire. “Why did you take that aide of the boulder?" demanded Herson. Merton saw Lura look quickly at her father. Her expression underwent a gudden change, and she smiled as if with relief. “He swung the bow and T had to,” complained MeGirr sullenly “How did you keep dry?" “T saw we were gone, and T stepped out on to that flat rock when T had a ehanee.”” Lura was looking at MeGirr ins tently. Her amila had gone, Her mouth was Bard and straight. .'The young Woodsman saw this and turned are the samo as mine when you. We may be wrong, but we can never take chances.” “How can I prove that I am not @ auspicious character? “That is not necessary. We never ut I am innocent of anything you may suspect, I have told the truth and I do not want to be con- sidered either @ suspicious character or & dependent, 1 have money to pay for whatever I obtain from your father Lura looked at him for « moment before replying. She did not conceal the fact that she was studying him “1 would advise you," she waid at last, “to follow father's orders to the letter, Tt he has decided your case, it is decided for all time. He if Ye it. or might not J Had roy the hero of It is and it is Zenda." Mever changes a ruling. The leader's never have been changed. If be puts you to work, go to work @bout it. It is the if I refuse?” tis the last thing you should Teplied significantly. don't mean that A Man of Mark} BY ANTHONY HOPE _... Next Week’s Complete Novel in The Evening World that will set your heart to bea: the man who wrote “The Pais all Pee oS ere ‘e Sabana aces recan® in the Inst ol and then in the cold the first dawn Merton tofied in the, cance. if in thie country?” and can “We recognize no lew except our Sach stroke ae begat to feat for che own. As long as you are here you frat time the joy of physical exertion. must obey: that laws sone TouMe, atTong, pertectty wealthy, & 0 spo! , Gepassion- rr ately. Sometting in her tone, 0 iy Md “aye calmness, the > the te For first few assurance that seemed te come MM tried to pussle out ‘oni by of the facts rathor tion, but the more ‘be, considered. reg te beng Bape him more the more bewildered it became. bas a py the girl had left tim to die, ‘Then, t te piace?” be demanded. when the cance went over the “Who are you, what are you do- she had resented what must ing bere? Why should your father heen another attempt to end his life. ‘have this power you say he has? I ana can't believe it. It is preposterous.” ‘At the he had just left ehe hed obit hisper a teasing ob her fathers eG nnd ob inj in ae wi an am half inclined to believe you have had him it tris | told the truth. There are things that in 5 fl! make this made me doubt you, but my opinioa time,” bad end. has changed ace Fae sew you Had the 7 ee since I Jeft you on the lake tried ‘Had Once I almoat turned back. ron chou the Bae: Ee know that we have good reasons for MoGirr without @ wet- suspecting you, good reasons for not Se hen ts ome desiring to have you here. wanted to leave him to perish “You have Hv given & ghort night be had stumbied over the casks breathing spell, a chance. prove yourself, and you must make the most ure, pry eey —e—ed of it. Something may happen to you more any minute, and you must be reateming. Al all the time. If you have told, the to truth, you will go free some time; but hin, con- for the present you are a prisoner, of watched every mo- ae br) jerton Dalfeved UUme and that “Every minute.” He turned and looked out window across the clearing to tl great lake. With « great effort tried to comprehend what had been said to bim, ced to mate pice eve that the girl spo! ‘wish I understood it all,” be sald. hap: gothing of your life, of your country, of what people do where you come from. But here you are one hundred years behind all that. You are back at the beginning of the nineteenth century. We have not changed for @ hundred years.” The door opened and Herason looked *:,come, Boyd,"" he called. “I'll show {nthe bered you what you are to do this after- noon.” Merton, with the girl's warning still fresh in his mind, arose and went out. 1 Herson, carrying an ax, had alread: started up the lake shore. As bi reached the end of the end entered @ trail, Merton it UD with bim and they walked op in silence. After a quarter of a mile the leader stopped. - “Start in here and cut all the birch on both sides,” he commanded. “Limb them and cut them into ten-foot lengths. The gong will call you to supper.” He handed the axe to Merton and turned back without another word. Never in his life had Merton swung an axe. Even when his Indian guide had cut firewood he had not given the subject of axemanship any atten- tion, In the next few hours he began Nes to see what an intricate, exacting ac- complishment it wai came he had cut down only six amall trees and was just beginning to hack at the seventh when he heard a gong. Tt was a tired, sullen young man who sat down to supper with the others. His first day at manual labor had made him forget all Herson had told him, all that of which Lura had warned him. His back ached, ‘his arms were sore, his entire body was weary, And each moment his resent- ment deepened against this mys- terious, incomprehensible band of people In whose power he was. But his weariness soon overcame his anger, and he was asleep before 7 o'clock. Kleven hours later he was again at the breakfast table. ‘You will go with McGirr to-day, Boyd," Herson commanded as MoGirr arose after a hurried meal. “He'll tell you what to do,” Merton looked up, ready to speak, but he stopped when he saw Laura's face, The girl was looking search- ingly at her father. The leader was leaving the room, however, and she turned to MeGtrr, There ‘was per- plexity In her eyes, and as she loaxed back they rested for a moment on Merton. “Come,” called McGirr from the door, and Merton followed him out into the darkness, He heard the door open and shut belind him, and the next moment there was the sound of moccastned feet at bis back. He whirled, to find Lura at his si “Re careful,” she whispered, “Watch every move that 1#, made, and don't take any kind of a chance,” “Is any one going to hurt me? “It is worse than that. He will make sure this time.” She turned and ran back as quickly as she had come. Merton hesitated, then took a step after her, only to stop when he heard Herson calling from the lake, CHAPTER VI. M "Go with Charley,” com- commanded the leader, The Reversion, “He'll tell you what.to do, I'm.sorcy ERTON arrived at the water to find MeGirr already “in the canoe, When dusk PO LY ger grew ult, he kept hia face toward the front and wi 1S left alone in it agal: stfatned Sim. “$4 ulter had a1 arrived at “One rd hour later Merton in: ry i. Hi alee disturbed by, ¢ De he wakened early in th breakfast reaky. she cag it otri At the two they reached the rapids there was a long del. while the canoe and its burden were trans. we Sore “Be careful of that," cried Mo@irr when Merton let his pack fall at the end of the first portage ‘You'll blow that stuff up, handling it that way. Set those boxes down easy. They're cartridges, the whole load, and we can't to waste any up h Merton remembered ‘a in- structions to MoGirr; how he had em- Phasized the importance of getting this particular load through. There were hundreds of pounds of the atuff, enough for a small battle, and when Merton thought of the few men at the two places, of the small use they could, under ordinary circumstances, have for so much ammunition, the mystery becomo the greater, At the head of the rapids where Merton had nearly drowned, MoGirr turned ashore at the end of the port- age by which they had passed the turbulent stretch of water on their way upstream, “We'll take a@ few loads across and ghten the canoe and then I'll run her alone,” he sald, as he adjusted his tump-line to two of the ammunt- tion ca. Merton, glad of the opportunity ‘to escape another dash thro the chute, swung his burden to his back and started ahead across the portage, He had completed the trip and was returning when McGirr appeared, “Wait until I get back and tell you what to take,” called the woodeman. Merton went on, After a hundred yards be remembered what MoGirr had said. On other portages he had been left to choose his own packs, He had always been urged to greater speed. Had MeGirr changed his mind and was he going to take him through the rapids again? At ¢ canoe MocGirr, p with Merton, " be said, lifting @ ‘k from near the stern of the T'll take one more and then bhe'll be light enough,” ' ‘The sack MeGirr had lifted out a tump line attached. It was heavy, and Merton swung tt to back with difficulty and stapted up the trail He had not gone t feet when he heard the gratit canoe in the stern. The next the canoe was epeeding down stream, (To Be Continued. running, | | | |