"What is that out there?" he asked. "Ah, it's gone now. It seemed to
me like a boat. There it is again."

Jean looked and for a few seconds was enabled to catch a glimpse of a
craft of some kind coming to them straight from the island.

"It is a canoe, daddy, and I can see some one paddling. Who can it be
on the river in such a storm as this?"

And just then the rain swept down, forcing them to retreat a few steps
within the cabin. But still they peered forth, and with fast-beating
hearts watched the approaching voyager. Whenever a glimmering flash
revealed the canoe, it resembled a mystic bark riding through the
storm, encircled with a living fire. So weird and mysterious did it
seem that Jean caught her father impulsively by the arm, while a slight
cry of awe escaped her lips.

"It isn't natural, daddy," she whispered. "It's uncanny. Do you
suppose it's a spirit?"

"No, no, dear. It's an Indian, no doubt. Look, he has stopped
paddling now, and is about to land."

Darkness again intervened, and the next flash revealed a tall form
stepping upon the shore as blackness once more enshrouded him. The
next glimpse showed him coming toward the cabin, carrying a bundle in
his arms. In another minute he was at the door, an Indian of
magnificent physique, clad in buckskins, with a squirrel-skin cap upon
his head. He smiled as he looked upon the astonished ones before him.