than he ever had thought in his life; for one short hour would see him a dead man or else Well, it would all be over soon.
On sped the launch past the low Albany shores. Not a buoy broke the surface of the wide river-mouth. The gunners in the bow with the one-pounder stood with eyes glued to their glasses. Huddled in the cock-pit, aft of the gasoline engine, the sailors sat in silence, grasping their rifles.
As the swift craft put mile after mile of the river behind her, the low scrub of the shore gradually gave way to heavier growth, and at last Whitefish Point, thrusting its spruce-clad silhouette far into the stream, opened up ahead.
Though the pulse of Gaspard Laroque pounded like a dog-runner's, his grim features gave no evidence of the tension under which he labored. Only a mile now, he thought.
The launch had covered half the distance when the Cree turned to the officer at his back and pointed ahead.
"De channel swing een close to dat point. Outside onlee free, four feet water." As he spoke, he stealthily shifted his footing. The helmsman, ordered by the officer, swung the launch inshore.
Shortly the Cree again protested:
"We run on de flat. Channel ees een shore."
Again the course of the boat was changed.
As they neared the point, the straining eyes of the half-breed were fixed on the willow scrub covering the upper beach. But suddenly his attention was at-
