"An honest man's the best critter God ever made, an' the
skeercest."--Old Cy Walker.
Old Cy's suspicions were correct. It was neither bear, deer, nor wildcat
that Ray saw skulking along the ridge, but the half-breed.
Believing Chip's father had taken her out of the wilderness, or more
likely up-stream to find a place with these campers, he had come here
to seek her. To find her here, as he of course did, only convinced him
that his suspicions were true and that her father had thus meant to rob
him.
Two determined impulses now followed this discovery: first, to make the
girl he had bought a prisoner, carry her into the woods, and then, when
the chance came, revenge himself on McGuire. No sense of law, or decency
even, entered his calculation. He was beyond such scruples, and what he
wanted was his only law.
The fear of rifles, which he knew were plenty enough at this camp, was
the only factor to be considered. For days he watched the camp from
across the lake, hoping that the girl he saw canoeing with a boy so
often might come near enough for him to make a capture. Many times,
when darkness served, he paddled close to where the cabin stood, and
once landed and watched it for hours.
Growing bolder, as the days wore on, he hid his canoe below the outlet
of the lake and taking advantage of this outcropping slate ledge with
its many fissures, secreted himself and watched.
But some shelter, at least to cook and eat in, he must have, and this he
found in a distant crevasse of this same ledge, and from this he sneaked
along back of it until he could hide and watch the camp below. From this
vantage-point, he saw that the girl no longer went out upon the lake,
but remained near the cabin; then later, he noticed the two men leave
the lake one morning. This encouraged him, and now he grew still bolder,
even descending the ridge and watching those remaining at the cabin,
from a dense thicket.
From this new post he saw that but one man seemed on guard, and almost
was he tempted to shoot him from ambush and make a dash to capture his
victim. Cautious and cunning, he still waited a chance involving less
risk.
And now he saw that certain duties were performed by these people;
that one man and the boy always started the morning fire; that the girl
invariably went to the landing alone for water, at about the same time.
Here for the moment she was out of sight from either cabin, and now in
this act of hers, he saw his opportunity to land from his canoe near
this spot before daylight, and hide in the bushes fringing the shore here
and below the bank, watch his chance and seize and gag her before an
outcry could be made. To tie her hands and feet and to push the other
canoe out into the lake, thus avoiding pursuit until they could get a
good start, was an easy matter.
It was risky, of course. She might hear or see him in time to give one
scream. The old man who had said foolish things to him, and now seemed
to be on guard, would surely send bullets after him as he sped away; but
once out of the lake, he would be safe. It was a dangerous act; yet the
other two men might return any day, and with this in prospect, this wily
half-breed now resolved to act.
Old Cy was up early that fatal morning. Somehow a sense of impending
danger haunted him, and calling Ray, he unlocked the cabin door and began
starting the morning fire. He wanted to get breakfast out of the way as
speedily as possible, and then visit this ridge, feeling almost sure
that he would find where this half-breed had been watching them.
When Ray came out, and before the hermit or Chip appeared, Old Cy hurried
over to the ice-house, and now Chip came forth as usual, and without a
word to any one, she took the two pails and started for the landing. It
was, perhaps, ten rods to this, down a narrow path winding through the
scrub spruce. The morning was fair, the lake without a ripple.
Above the ridge, and peeping through its topping of stunted fir, came
the first glance of the sun, and Chip was happy.
Old Tomah, her one and only friend for many years, was here. A something
Ray had whispered the night before, now returned like a sweet note of
music vibrating in her heart, and as if to add their cheer, the birds
were piping all about.
For weeks the cheerful words of one of Ray's songs had haunted her with
its catchy rhythm:--
"Dar was an old nigger and his name was Uncle Ned,
He died long 'go, long 'go."
They now rose to her lips, as she neared the lake. Here she halted,
filled a pail, and set it on the log landing.
[Illustration: Nearer and nearer that unconscious girl it crept!]
From behind a low spruce one evil, sinister eye watched her.
And now Chip, still humming this ditty, glanced up at the rising sun and
out over the lake.
A crouching form with hideous face now emerged from behind the bush;
step by step, this human panther advanced. A slow, cautious, catlike
movement, without sound, as each moccasined foot touched the sand. Nearer
and nearer that unconscious girl it crept! Now twenty feet away, now
ten, now five!
And now came a swift rush, two fierce hands enclosed the girl's face
and drew her backward on to the sand.
Ray and the hermit were beside the fire, and the Indian just emerging
from the hut where he had slept, when Old Cy returned from the ice-house.
"Where's Chip?" he questioned.
"Gone after water," answered Ray. And the two glanced down the path.
One, two, five minutes elapsed, and then a sudden suspicion of something
wrong came to Old Cy, and, followed by Ray, he hurried to the landing.
One pail of water stood on the float, both their canoes were adrift on
the lake, and as Old Cy looked out, there, heading for the outlet, was
a canoe!
One swift glance and, "My God, he's got Chip!" told the story,
and with face fierce in anger, he darted back, grasped his rifle, and
returned.
The canoe, its paddler bending low as he forced it into almost leaps,
was scarce two lengths from the outlet.
Old Cy raised his rifle, then lowered it.
Chip was in that canoe!
His avenging shot was stayed.
And now Old Tomah leaped down the path, rifle in hand.
One look at the vanishing canoe, and his own, floating out upon the lake,
told him the tale, and without a word he turned and, plunging into the
undergrowth, leaping like a deer over rock and chasm, vanished at the
top of the ridge.