Part 17 (1/2)

”Your gun is empty, Beatrice,” he told her quietly. He heard her sob, and he smiled a little, rea.s.suringly. ”Never mind--and pray for a good voyage,” he advised. ”We're going through.”

XXI

The craft and its occupants were out of sight by the time Jeffery Neilson reached the river bank with his rifle. The flush had swept from his bronze skin, leaving it a ghastly yellow, and for once in his life no oaths came to his lips. He could only mutter, strangely, from a convulsed throat.

Like an insane man he hastened down the river bank, fighting his way through the brush. The thickets were dense, ordinarily impenetrable to any mortal strength except to that mighty, incalculable power of the moose and grizzly; yet they could not restrain him now. The tough clothes he wore were nearly torn from his body; his face and hands were scratched as if by the claws of a lynx; but he did not pause till he reached the bank of the gray river.

Only one more glimpse of the canoe was vouchsafed him, and that glimpse came too late. He saw the light barge just as it hovered at the crest of the rapids. Even if he could have shot straight at so great a range and had killed the man in the stern, no miracle could have saved his daughter. She would have been instantly swept to her death against the crags.

Some measure of self-control returned to him then, and he made his way fast as he could toward the claim. Sensing the older man's distress, Ray straightened from his work at the sight of him.

The face before him was drawn and white; but there was no time for questions. Hard hands seized his arm.

”Ray, do you know of a canoe anywhere--up or down this river?”

”There's one at the landing. None other I know of.”

”Think, man! You don't know where we can get one?”

”No. Old Hiram's canoe was the only one. What's the matter?”

”Do you think there's one chance in a million of getting down through those rapids on a raft?”

Ray's eyes opened wide. ”A raft!” he echoed. ”Man, are you crazy? Even at this high water a canoe wouldn't have a chance in ten of making it.

The river's falling every hour--”

”I know it. Do you suppose there's a canoe in town?”

”No! Of course there isn't--one that you could even dream about shooting those rapids in. Besides, by the time we got there and packed it up--it would take two days to pack it the best we could do--the river would be too far down to tackle the trip at all. And it won't come up again till fall--you know that. Tell me what's the matter. Has Beatrice--”

”Beatrice has gone down, that's all.”

”Then she's dead--no hope of anything else. Only an expert could hope to take her through, and there's nothing to live on Back There. What's the use of trying to follow--?”

Neilson straightened, his eyes searching Ray's. ”She's got food, I suppose. And she's got an expert paddler to take her there.”

Ray's face seemed to darken before his eyes. His hands half closed, shook in his face, then caught at Neilson's shoulders. ”You don't mean--she's run away?”

”Don't be a fool. Not run away--abducted. The prospector I told you about--Darby--was the old man's partner. He's paying us back. Heaven only knows what the girl's fate will be--I don't dare to think of it.

Ray, I wish to G.o.d I had died before I ever saw this day!”

Ray stared blankly. ”Then he found out--about the murder?” he gasped.

”Yes. Here's his letter. Take time--and read it. There's no use to try to act before we think--how to act. If I could only see a way--”

Ray read the letter carefully, crumpling it at last in savage wrath.

”It's your fault!” he cried. ”Why didn't you save her for me as I've always asked you to do; why did you let her go out with him at all? I'll bet she wanted to go--”