as did he and the girl; but the chance remained that this man,
whoever he was, would pass by, for his speed was great, the river a
mile in width, and the bend sharp. Necia had cried Poleon's name,
but her companion saw no resemblance to the Frenchman in this
strange-looking voyager; in fact, he could not quite make out what
was peculiar about the man--perhaps his eyes were not as sharp as
hers--and then he saw that the boatman was naked to the waist. By
now he was drawing opposite them with the speed of a hound. The
girl, gagged and held by her captor's hands, struggled and moaned
despairingly, and, crouching back of the boat, they might have
escaped discovery in the gray morning light had it not been for the
telltale fire--a tiny, crackling blaze no larger than a man's hat.
It betrayed them. The dancing craft upon which their eyes were fixed
whipped about, almost leaping from the water at one stroke, then
came towards them, now nothing but a narrow thing, half again the
width of a man's body. The current carried it down abreast of them,
then past, and Runnion rose, releasing the girl, who cried out with
all her might to the boatman. He made no sound in reply, but drove
his canoe shoreward with quicker strokes. It was evident he would
effect his landing near the lower end of the spit, for now he was
within hearing distance, and driving closer every instant.

Necia heard the gambler call:

"Sheer off, Doret! You can't land here!"

She saw a gun in Runnion's hand, and a terrible, sickening fear
swept over her, for he was slowly walking down the spit, keeping
abreast of the canoe as it drifted. She could see exactly what would
happen: no man could disembark against the will of an armed