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suing party, the first glint of anger came to her eyes.
Far ahead where the lake dwindled to form the source of a mountain stream I saw a single dwelling. The straining youth fixed his eyes on this and redoubled his efforts. But all was useless now; the flight had been discovered. The hutch was too flimsy to withstand any half-determined siege. And furthermore—the running men had reached it first. Now they had set fire to it. The last vestige of hope left the youth's face. With a look of grim determination he ceased paddling and faced the girl.
Her face went white, but she answered the question in his eyes with a nod. The man resumed his paddling, but now his eyes were fixed on the stream banks. He sent the dugout straight on beyond the burning hut.
Those on shore seemed now to divine his purpose. Gesticulating wildly, they ran to the stream. The girl in the dugout raised her chin defiantly and pointed straight ahead. A huge fellow drew back a bowstring, but instantly the girl threw herself into her companion's arms. Torn between two fears, another man, whom I judged to be the girl's father, restrained the archer, then covered his eyes with a hairy paw.
The dugout went on with an ever increasing current. The banks of the rivulet drew nearer together and rose towering over the little craft. Faster and faster it flew, while the young warrior tightened his grip on the girl who had elected to die with him rather than leave him to his fate at the hands of her people. The stream became a mill race—the little boat was as a javelin cast by some battling merman—or had the rock walls on either side so rank with slime and ooze taken on a backward movement of their own?—faster—a million disordered shapes leered from out the swirling mist clouds—the maiden hid her face in the youth's tunic—the
