THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY

While Jean was crouching there alone in the desolate lodge, several men
were gathered around a small fire over half a mile down stream. They
had been drinking, and their words were loud and coarse. Seth Lupin
was the leader, and he was in great spirits. Three of his companions
were the slashers who had attacked Dane Norwood at Portland Point, and
they, too, seemed much pleased.

These brutes in human forms firmly believed that they were safe from
all prying eyes, and that their words of lust and revenge were lost
amidst the forest depths. Little did they realise that not far away
the form of an Indian was pressed close to the ground, that keen ears
were listening to every word, and that flashing eyes were watching
their slightest movements.

When, however, Lupin at length stepped into the canoe lying on the
shore, and began to paddle rapidly up the river, the prostrate Indian
rose to his feet, and glided swiftly among the trees, straight for the
lodge where Jean was crouching. As the canoe touched the shore a short
distance below the encampment, the native was silently standing near a
large spruce tree. No sooner had Lupin landed, than like a catapult
the Indian was upon him. With a wild gurgling cry of fear the
surprised man reeled back, and tried to ward off the attack. But his
efforts were all in vain, for the Indian's fingers were upon his throat
with a vise-like grip. Notwithstanding his frantic struggles, he was
borne steadily to the ground, and there he lay with his assailant
perched upon his body, and his fingers still clutching hard.