Carrigan's first impulse, sudden as the thrill that leaped through
him, was to cry out to the occupants of the unseen canoe. Words
were on his lips, but he forced them back. They could not miss
him, could not get beyond the reach of his voice--and he waited.
After all, there might be profit in a reasonable degree of
caution. He crept back toward his rifle, sensing the fact that
movement no longer gave him very great distress. At the same time
he lost no sound from the river. The voices were silent, and the
dip, dip, dip of paddles was approaching softly and with extreme
caution. At last he could barely hear the trickle of them, yet he
knew the canoe was coming steadily nearer. There was a suspicious
secretiveness in its approach. Perhaps the lady with the beautiful
eyes and the glistening hair had changed her mind again and was
returning to put an end to him.

The thought sharpened his vision. He saw a thin shadow a little
darker than the gloom of the river; it grew into shape; something
grated lightly upon sand and pebbles, and then he heard the
guarded plash of feet in shallow water and saw some one pulling
the canoe up higher. A second figure joined the first. They
advanced a few paces and stopped. In a moment a voice called
softly,

"M'sieu! M'sieu Carrigan!"

There was an anxious note in the voice, but Carrigan held his
tongue. And then he heard the woman say,

"It was here, Bateese! I am sure of it!"