I glanced instinctively toward the back of the cabin, at the large,
sack-covered window cut in the logs.
“Out that way, Betty!” I whispered, tearing down the sacking.
It was the first time I had called her by that name. She obeyed
promptly.
“George?” she whispered, as she stood ready to climb through the
window.
“No,” said Dr. Olson. “He’s helpless—I’ll stay here. Hurry!”
I was stuffing my pockets with food, with a snuffed candle, scarcely
conscious of what I was doing. Also, in the same instinctive manner,
without any conscious thought, yet somehow realizing that it was a
vital action, I snatched a blanket from Chanler’s bunk and threw it
over my shoulder.
“We’re going to the cave where I hid the rifle. Tell that to Pierce,
doctor; he’ll understand.”
“Yes. Hurry, for God’s sake!” he whispered. “Good luck.”
Betty went through the window with a lithe vault and a noiseless drop
outside. I followed, dropped beside her, and, catching her hand, led
as silently as possible away from the cabin until I felt sure we were
out of hearing. Then we swung carefully back through the brush to the
river trail at a point well below the mine clearing.
“Now for the canoe!” I whispered. “Come on!”
I ran as I had not run since a boy, and as I glanced back over my
shoulder I saw Betty following closely.
We found the canoe where we had left it. Betty was in the bow before I
had it untied. I pushed off, and, regardless of the rocks, we paddled
furiously down-stream for the open water of the bay.
Not until we had entered the fiord and put an out-jutting cliff
between ourselves and the river-mouth did we relax. Then Betty laid
her paddle across the bows, bowed her head, and a tremor shook her
slim body.
“Don’t—don’t, Miss Baldwin!” I pleaded. “On my word and honor I feel
absolutely confident that we are safe now.”