strange quest Jack knew so little of. His alert senses had long ago
grasped the fact that furs alone were not taking them north, that
something unspoken of was the real cause of this expedition; but he was
content to wait until the time came when he should be told. His handsome
young uncle knelt at the bow thwart, the silent Chippewa boy at the
stern. The canoe shot forth like a slender arrow, and the wilderness
closed in about them Just as they rounded the bend of the river which
was to shut the settlement from sight, Matt Larson turned his head
several times quickly, looking behind them with something of the
lightning movement and sharp rapidity of a wild animal. It struck Jack
as an odd action, betraying suspicion--suspicion perhaps that they might
be followed. That night wisdom came to him. The day had been a heavy
one, paddling upstream against a cruel current; and, after they had
pitched camp for the night at the foot of an exquisite cascade of water
called the Red Rock Falls, and eaten a tremendous supper, Jack strolled
to the water's margin to see that the canoe was properly beached high
and safe. On the opposite side of the river a slim shadow slipped
along--a canoe that contained a single man, who wore a rough coat of
indefinite greyish plaid. Jack crept noiselessly up the river bank.
"Larry, Fox-Foot," he said in a hoarse, low whisper, "look, look across
the river! A canoe, with a man in it--a man in a mackinaw!"


II

Matt Larson sprang to his feet, spitting out a strange foreign word
that boded no good to the intruder. His hand leaped to his revolver
instantly. Then he swung around to look at Fox-Foot, but the boy had
disappeared for a moment. The two stood silent, then Jack's quick eye
caught sight of the Chippewa many yards distant crawling on his belly