when hubert stane took stock of his position, after his captors had left him, he found himself in a country which was strange to him, and spent the best part of a day in ascertaining his whereabouts. the flow of the wide river where the camp had been pitched told him nothing, and it was only after he had climbed a high hill a mile and a half away from the river that he began to have any indication of his whereabouts. then with the country lying before him in a bird's-eye view he was able to learn his position. there was more than one river in view, and a chain of small lakes lay between one of them and the river where he had been left by his captors. from the last of those lakes a long portage, such as had been made on the last day but one of the journey, would bring them to a river which a few miles away joined the river on the bank of which he had been left to shift for himself. studying the disposition of the country carefully, he reached the conclusion that by a roundabout journey he had been brought to the river on the upper reaches of which he had his permanent camp; and as the conviction grew upon him, he made his way back to the canoe, and began to work his way upstream.
as he paddled, the problem of his deportation exercised his mind; and nowhere could he find any explanation of it, unless it had to do with miskodeed. but that explanation failed as he recalled the words of her father: "it is an order." who had given the order? he thought in turn of the factor, of sir james yardely, of gerald ainley. the first two were instantly dismissed, but the thought of ainley remained fermenting in his mind. it was an odd coincidence that he should have been attacked whilst awaiting ainley's coming, and in view of his one-time friend's obvious reluctance to an interview and of his own urgent reasons for desiring it; the suspicion that ainley was the man who had issued the order for his forcible deportation grew until it became almost a conviction.
"i will find out about this—and the other thing," he said aloud. "i can't go back now, but sooner or later my chance will come. the cur!"
that evening he camped at the foot of a fall, which he had heard of, but never before seen, and spent the whole of the next day in portaging his belongings to navigable water, and on the following evening well beyond the rocky ramparts, where the river ran so swiftly, made his camp, happily conscious that now the river presented no barrier for two hundred miles.
as he sat smoking outside his little tent, an absent, thoughtful look upon his face, his eyes fixed dreamily on the river, his mind reverted once more to the problem of recent happenings, and as he considered it, there came to him the picture of miskodeed as he had seen her running towards him between the willows just before the blow which had knocked him unconscious. she had cried to him to put him on his guard, and the apprehension in her face as he remembered it told him that she knew of the ill that was to befall him. his mind dwelt on her for a moment as he visioned her face with its bronze beauty, her dark, wild eyes flashing with apprehension for him, and as he did so his own eyes softened a little. he recalled the directness of her speech in their first conversation and smiled at the naïveté of her estimate of himself. then the smile died, leaving the absent, thoughtful look more pronounced, and in the same moment the vision of miskodeed was obliterated by the vision of helen yardely—the woman of his own race, fair and softly-strong, and as different as well as could be from the daughter of the wilds.
again, as he recalled the steady scrutinizing glance of her grey eyes, he felt the blood rioting in his heart, and for a moment his eyes were alight with dreams. then he laughed in sudden bitterness.
"what a confounded fool i am!" he said. "a discharged convict——"
the utterance was suddenly checked; and an interested look came on his face. there was something coming down the river. he rose quickly to his feet in order to get a better view of the object which had suddenly floated into his line of vision. it was a canoe. it appeared to be empty, and thinking it was a derelict drifting from some camp up river, he threw himself down again, for even if he salved it, it could be of no possible use to him. lying there he watched it as it drifted nearer in the current, wondering idly whence it had come. nearer it came, swung this way and that by various eddies, and drifting towards the further side of the river where about forty yards above his camp a mass of rock broke the smooth surface of the water. he wondered whether the current would swing it clear; and now watched it with interest since he had once heard a river-man declare that anything that surrendered itself completely to a current would clear obstructions. he had not believed the theory at the time, and now before his eyes it was disproved; for the derelict swung straight towards the rocks, then twisted half-way round as it was caught by some swirl, and struck a sharp piece of rock broadside on.
then happened a totally unexpected thing. as the canoe struck, a girl who had been lying at the bottom, raised herself suddenly, and stared at the water overside, one hand clutching the gunwale. a second later the canoe drifted against another rock and suddenly tilted, throwing the girl into the broken water.
by this time, taken by surprise though he was, stane was on his feet, and running down the bank. he did not stop to launch his canoe but just as he was flung himself into the water, and started to swim across the river, drifting a little with the current, striving to reach a point where he could intercept the girl as she drifted down. it was no light task he had set himself, for the current was strong, and carried him further than he intended to go, but he was in front of the piece of human flotsam which the river was claiming for its prey, and as it came nearer he stretched a hand and grasped at it. he caught a handful of chestnut hair that floated like long weed in the river's tide, and the next moment turned the girl over on her back. she was unconscious, but as he glimpsed at her face, his heart leaped, for it was the face of that fair english girl of whom but a few minutes before he had been dreaming. for a second he was overcome with amazement, then stark fear leapt in his heart as he looked at the closed eyes and the white, unconscious face.
that fear shook him from his momentary inactivity. he looked for something else to hold by, and finding nothing, twisted the long strand of hair he had gripped into a rope, and held it with his teeth. then he glanced round. the current had carried him further than he had realized, and now quickened for its rush between the rocky ramparts, so that there was some danger of their being caught and swept through. as he realized that, he began to exert all his strength, striking across the current for the nearest bank, which was the one furthest from his camp.
the struggle was severe, and the girl's body drifting against him impeded his movements terribly. it seemed impossible that he could make the bank, and the ramparts frowned ominously ahead. he was already wondering what the chances were of making the passage through in safety, and was half-inclined to surrender to the current and take the risks ahead, when his eye caught that which spurred him to fresh efforts.
a hundred yards downstream a huge tree, by some collapse of the bank, had been flung from the position where it had grown for perhaps a hundred years, and now lay with its crown and three-quarters of its trunk in the river. its roots, heavily laden with earth, still clung to the bank and fought with the river for its prey. if he could reach that stane realized that he might yet avoid the perilous passage between the bastions of rock. he redoubled his efforts against the quickening current, and by supreme exertions pulled himself into a position where the current must carry him and the girl against the tree.
in a moment, as it seemed, they had reached it, and now holding the girl's hair firmly in one hand, with the other he clutched at one of the branches. he caught it, and the next moment was unexpectedly ducked overhead in the icy water. he came up gasping, and then understood. the tree was what in the voyageur's nomenclature is known as a "sweeper." still held by its roots it bobbed up and down with the current, and the extra strain of his weight and the girl's had sunk it deeper in the water. it still moved up and down, and he had not finished spluttering when a new danger asserted itself. the suck of the current under the tree was tremendous. it seemed to stane as if a thousand malevolent hands were conspiring to drag him under; and all the time he was afraid lest the unconscious girl should be entangled among the submerged branches.
lying on his back holding the bough that he had caught, at the same time steadying himself with a foot against another branch, he swiftly considered the situation.
it was impossible that he could pull himself on to the trunk from the upper side. even had he been unhampered by the unconscious girl that would have been difficult, the suck of the current under the tree being so great. he would have to get to the other side somehow. to do that there were new risks to be taken. he would have to let loose the branch which he held, drift through the other interlacing branches, and get a hold on the further side of the trunk.
it was risky, and beyond was the water swirling for its race between the bastions. but he could do nothing where he was and, setting his teeth, he let go his hold. in a second, as it seemed, the tree leaped like a horse and the water swept him and the girl under the trunk. scarcely were they under when his free arm shot out and flung itself round a fresh bough which floated level with the water. immediately the bough bobbed under, but he was prepared for that, and after a brief rest, he set the girl's hair between his teeth once more, and with both hands free began to work from bough to bough. one that he clutched gave an ominous crack. it began to sag in a dangerous way, and at the fork where it joined a larger branch a white slit appeared and began to grow wider. he watched it growing, his eyes quite steady, his mind alert for the emergency that it seemed must arrive, but the branch held for the space of time that he needed it; and it was with heartfelt relief that he grasped a larger bough, and the next moment touched bottom with his feet.
at that he shifted his hold on the girl, towing her by a portion of her dress, and two minutes later, lifted her beyond the water-line on the high shelving bank. then, as he looked in her white face and marked the ashen lips, a panic of fear fell on him. dropping to his knees he took her wrist in his hand and felt for her pulse. at first he thought that she was dead, then very faint and slow he caught the beat of it. the next moment he had her in his arms and was scrambling up the bank.
at the top he had the good fortune to stumble on a trail that was evidently used by indians or other dwellers in the wilderness, probably by men portaging the length of bad water down the river. it was a rough enough path, yet it made his task immeasurably easier. but even with its unexpected aid, the journey was a difficult one, and he staggered with exhaustion when he laid the girl down upon the rough grass at a point not quite opposite his own camp.
gasping he stood looking at her until he had recovered his breath, the girl unconscious of his gaze; then when he felt equal to the task, he plunged again into the river and swam to his own camp. a few minutes later he returned in his canoe, carrying with him a field water-bottle filled with medical brandy.
the girl lay as he had left her, and his first action was to pour a few drops of brandy between her parted lips, and that done he waited, chafing her hands. a minute later the long-lashed eyelids fluttered and opened, and the grey eyes looked wildly round without seeing him, then closed again and a long sigh came from her as she lapsed into unconsciousness anew. at that he wasted no more time. lifting her, he carried her down to the canoe, and paddling across the river, bore her up to his own camp, and laid her down where the heat of the fire would reach her, then he administered further brandy and once more waited.
again the eyelids fluttered and opened, and the girl looked round with wild, uncomprehending gaze, then her eyes grew steady, and a moment later fixed themselves upon stane. he waited, saw wonder light them, then, in a voice that shook, the girl asked: "how did—i—come here?"
"that you know best yourself," answered the young man, cheerfully. "i fished you out of the river, that is all i know." the girl made as if to reply; but stane prevented her.
"no, don't try to talk for a little while. wait! take a little more of this brandy."
he held it towards her in a tin cup, and with his hand supporting her head, the girl slowly sipped it. by the time she had finished, a little blood was running in her cheeks and her lips were losing their ashen colour. she moved and made as though to sit up.
"better wait a little longer," he said, quietly.
"no," she said, "i feel better."
she lifted herself into a sitting posture, and he thoughtfully rolled a small sack of beans to support her back, then she looked at him with a quick questioning gaze.
"i have seen you before, have i not? you are the man who was at fort malsun, aren't you—the man whom mr. ainley used to know?"
"yes," he answered with sudden bitterness, "i am the man whom ainley used to know. my name is hubert stane, and i am a discharged convict, as i daresay he told you."
the sudden access of colour in helen yardely's face, and the look in her eyes, told him that he had guessed correctly, but the girl did not answer the implied question. instead she looked at the river and shuddered.
"you—fished me out," she said, her eyes on the rocks across the river. "was it there the canoe overturned?"
"yes," he answered, "you struck the rocks."
"i must have been dozing," she replied. "i remember waking and seeing water pouring into the canoe, and the next moment i was in the river. you saw me, i suppose?"
stane nodded. "i was sitting here and saw the canoe coming down the river. i thought it was empty until it struck the rocks and you suddenly sat up."
"and then you came after me?"
"yes," he answered lightly.
her grey eyes looked at him carefully, noted his dripping clothes and dank hair, and then with sudden comprehension asked: "how did you get me? did you do it with your canoe or——"
"the canoe wouldn't have been any use," he interrupted brusquely. "it would have upset if i had tried to get you out of the water into it."
"then you swam for me?" persisted the girl.
"had to," he answered carelessly. "couldn't let you drown before my eyes—even if i am a convict!"
helen yardely flushed a little. "i do not think you need mention that again. i am very grateful to a brave man."
"oh, as to that——" he began; but she interrupted him.
"tell me where you got me? i remember nothing about it."
he looked down the river.
"as near as i can tell you, it was by that clump of firs there; though i was not able to land for quite a long distance beyond. you were unconscious, and i carried you along the opposite bank, then swam across for my canoe and ferried you over. there you have the whole story." he broke off sharply, then before she could offer comment he spoke again: "i think it would be as well if you could have a change of clothes. it is not cold, but to let those you have dry on you might bring on all sorts of ills. there are some things of mine in the tent. i will put them handy, and you can slip them on whilst i take a stroll. you can then dry your own outfit."
he did not wait for any reply, but walked to the little fly-tent, and three or four minutes later emerged, puffing a pipe. he waved towards the tent, and turning away began to walk rapidly up river. helen yardely sat where she was for a moment looking after him. there was a very thoughtful expression on her face.
"the whole story!" she murmured as she rose to her feet. "i wonder? that man may have been a convict; but he is no braggart."
she walked to the tent, and with amused eyes looked at the articles of attire obviously arranged for her inspection. a grey flannel shirt, a leather belt, a pair of bedford cord breeches, a pair of moccasins, miles too large for her, and a mackinaw jacket a little the worse for wear.
she broke into sudden laughter as she considered them, and after a moment went to the tent-door and shyly looked up the river. the figure of her rescuer was still receding at a rapid rate. she nodded to herself, and then dropping the flap of the tent, faced the problem of the unaccustomed garments.
