"That's right! Sit down and behave while I make you something hot to
drink. You're all in." After a time he continued, as he busied
himself about his task: "Say, you ought to be glad to get me; I've
got a lot of money, or I will have, and once you're Mrs. Runnion,
nobody'll ever know about this or think of you as a squaw." He
talked to her while he waited for the water to boil, his assurance
robbing her of hope, for she saw he was stubborn and reckless,
determined to override her will as well as to conquer her body,
while under his creed, the creed of his kind, a woman was made from
the rib of man and for his service. He conveyed it to her plainly.
He ruled horses with a hard hand, he drove his dog teams with a
biting lash, and he mastered women with a similar lack of feeling or
consideration.

He was still talking when the girl sprang to her feet and sent a
shrill cry out over the river, but instantly he was up and upon her,
his hand over her mouth, while she tore at it, screaming the name of
Poleon Doret. He silenced her to a smothered, sobbing mumble, and
turned to see, far out on the bosom of the great soiled river, a man
in a bark canoe. The craft had just swung past the bend above, and
was still a long way off--so far away, in fact, that Necia's signal
had not reached it, for its occupant held unwaveringly to the
swiftest channel, his body rising and falling in the smooth,
unending rhythm of a master-boatman tinder great haste, his arms up-
flung now and then, as the paddle glinted and flashed across to the
opposite side.

Runnion glanced about hurriedly, then cursed as he saw no place of
concealment. The Peterborough stood out upon the bar conspicuously,