water would have made the wood swell so as to close the hole, but once
out in midstream the water must have poured in, and the canoe, never
more than two inches above the surface, would have filled and sunk very
rapidly.

"There, you see, an attempt to prepare a victim for the sacrifice," I
heard him saying, more to himself than to me, "two victims rather," he
added as he bent over and ran his fingers along the slit.

I began to whistle--a thing I always do unconsciously when utterly
nonplused--and purposely paid no attention to his words. I was
determined to consider them foolish.

"It wasn't there last night," he said presently, straightening up from
his examination and looking anywhere but at me.

"We must have scratched her in landing, of course," I stopped whistling
to say, "The stones are very sharp----"

I stopped abruptly, for at that moment he turned round and met my eye
squarely. I knew just as well as he did how impossible my explanation
was. There were no stones, to begin with.

"And then there's this to explain too," he added quietly, handing me the
paddle and pointing to the blade.

A new and curious emotion spread freezingly over me as I took and
examined it. The blade was scraped down all over, beautifully scraped,
as though someone had sand-papered it with care, making it so thin that
the first vigorous stroke must have snapped it off at the elbow.