A moon of exquisite whiteness silvering the world, making shadows on the
water as though it were sunlight and the daytime, giving a spectral look
to the endless array of poplar trees on the banks, glittering on the foam
of the rapids. The spangling stars made the arch of the sky like some
gorgeous chancel in a cathedral as vast as life and time. Like the day
which was ended, in which the mountain-girl had found a taste of Eden, it
seemed too sacred for mortal strife. Now and again there came the note of
a night-bird, the croak of a frog from the shore; but the serene stillness
and beauty of the primeval North was over all.
For two hours after sunset it had all been silent and brooding, and then
two figures appeared on the bank of the great river. A canoe was softly
and hastily pushed out from its hidden shelter under the overhanging bank,
and was noiselessly paddled out to mid-stream, dropping down the current
meanwhile.
It was Jenny Long and the man who must get to Bindon. They had waited till
nine o'clock, when the moon was high and full, to venture forth. Then
Dingley had dropped from her bedroom window, had joined her under the
trees, and they had sped away, while the man's hunters, who had come
suddenly, and before Jenny could get him away into the woods, were
carousing inside. These had tracked their man back to Tom Sanger's house,
and at first they were incredulous that Jenny and her uncle had not seen
him. They had prepared to search the house, and one had laid his finger on
the latch of her bedroom door; but she had flared out with such anger
that, mindful of the supper she had already begun to prepare for them,
they had desisted, and the whiskey-jug which the old man brought out
distracted their attention.
One of their number, known as the Man from Clancey's had, however, been
outside when Dingley had dropped from the window, and had seen him from a
distance. He had not given the alarm, but had followed, to make the
capture by himself. But Jenny had heard the stir of life behind them, and
had made a sharp detour, so that they had reached the shore and were out
in mid-stream before their tracker got to the river. Then he called to
them to return, but Jenny only bent a little lower and paddled on, guiding
the canoe toward the safe-channel through the first small rapids leading
to the great Dog Nose Rapids.
A rifle-shot rang out, and a bullet "pinged" over the water and splintered
the side of the canoe where Dingley sat. He looked calmly back, and saw
the rifle raised again, but did not stir, in spite of Jenny's warning to
lie down.
"He'll not fire on you so long as he can draw a bead on me," he said,
quietly.
Again a shot rang out, and the bullet sang past his head.
"If he hits me, you go straight on to Bindon," he continued. "Never mind
about me. Go to the Snowdrop Mine. Get there by twelve o'clock, and warn
them. Don't stop a second for me--"
Suddenly three shots rang out in succession--Tom Sanger's house had
emptied itself on the bank of the river--and Dingley gave a sharp
exclamation.
"They've hit me, but it's the same arm as before," he growled. "They got
no right to fire at me. It's not the law. Don't stop," he added, quickly,
as he saw her half turn round.
Now there were loud voices on the shore. Old Tom Sanger was threatening to
shoot the first man that fired again, and he would have kept his word.
"Who you firin' at?" he shouted. "That's my niece, Jinny Long, an' you let
that boat alone. This ain't the land o' lynch law. Dingley ain't escaped
from gaol. You got no right to fire at him."
"No one ever went down Dog Nose Rapids at night," said the Man from
Clancey's, whose shot had got Dingley's arm. "There ain't a chance of them
doing it. No one's ever done it."
The two were in the roaring rapids now, and the canoe was jumping through
the foam like a race-horse. The keen eyes on the bank watched the canoe
till it was lost in the half-gloom below the first rapids, and then they
went slowly back to Tom Sanger's house.
"So there'll be no wedding to-morrow," said the Man from Clancey's.
"Funerals, more likely," drawled another.
"Jinny Long's in that canoe, an' she ginerally does what she wants to,"
said Tom Sanger, sagely.
"Well, we done our best, and now I hope they'll get to Bindon," said
another.
Sanger passed the jug to him freely. Then they sat down and talked of the
people who had been drowned in Dog Nose Rapids, and of the last wedding in
the mountains.