With her hand on the prow she waited again, not looking at him, hoping against hope. There was something crushed and palpitating in her aspect like a wounded bird. Ambrose felt like a monster of cruelty.

Suddenly a fresh fear attacked him. "Nesis," he asked, "how will you explain being away overnight? They will connect it with my escape.

What will they do to you?"

She turned her head, showing him a painful little smile. "You not think of that before," she murmured. "I not care what they do by me.

You not love me."

He strode to her and clapped a rough hand on her shoulder. "Here, I couldn't have them hurt you!" he cried harshly. "You baby! You come with me. I'm in as bad as I can be already. A little more or less won't make any difference. I'll chance it, anyway. You come with me!"

"Oh, my Angleysman!" she breathed, and sank a little limp heap at his feet.

Ambrose blew up the forgotten fire and made tea. Nesis quickly revived. Having made up his mind to take her, he put the best possible face on it.

There were to be no more reproaches. Her pitiful anxiety not to anger him again made him wince. Her eyes never left his face. If he so much as frowned at an uncomfortable thought they became tragic.

"Look here, I'm not a brute!" he cried, exasperated.

Nesis looked foolish, and quickly turned her head away.

Over their tea and bannock they became almost cheerful. Motion had made them both hungry.

Ambrose glanced at their slender store. "We'll never hang out to the lake at this rate," he said laughing.

"I set rabbit snare when we sleep," Nesis said quickly. "I catch fish.

I shoot wild duck."

"Shall we leave one of the canoes?" asked Ambrose.

She shook her head vigorously. "Each tak' one. Maybe one bus' in rapids. You sleep in your canoe now. I pull you."

Ambrose shook his head. "No sleep until to-night," he said.

Ambrose was lighting his pipe and Nesis was gathering up the things when suddenly Job sprang up, barking furiously. At the same moment half a score of dark faces rose above the bank behind them, and gun-barrels stuck up.

Among the ten was a distorted, snarling, yellow face. Ambrose s.n.a.t.c.hed up his own gun. Nesis uttered a gasping cry; such a sound of terror Ambrose had never heard.

"Shoot me!" she gasped, crawling toward him. "You shoot me!

Angleysman, quick! Shoot me!"

Her heartrending cries had so confused him, he was seized before he could raise his gun.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE ALARM.

Ambrose was pacing his log prison once more. The earth had been filled in, the hole in the floor roughly repaired, and now his jailers took turns in patrolling around the shack.

Imprisonment was doubly hard now. Day and night Nesis's strange cries of terror rang in his ears. He knew something about the Indians' ideas of punishing women. His imagination never ceased to suggest terrible things that might have befallen her.

"G.o.d! Every one that comes near me suffers!" he cried in his first despair.

The explanation of their surprise proved simple. Watusk and his crew, pursuing them in two dugouts, had seen the smoke of their fire from up the river.

They had landed above the point and, making a short detour inland, had fallen on Ambrose and Nesis from behind. Nesis had been carried back in one dugout, Ambrose in the other.

During the trip no ill-usage had been offered her, as far as he could see, but upon reaching the village she had been spirited away, and he had not seen her since.

His last glimpse had shown him her child's face almost dehumanized with terror.

Ambrose now for the first time received a visit from Watusk. Watusk had also traveled in the other dugout ascending the river, and they had exchanged no words.

He came to the shack attended by his four little familiars, and the door was closed behind them. These four were like supers in a theater.

They had no lines to speak. Watusk's aspect was intended to be imposing.

In addition to the red sash he now wore three belts, the first full of cartridges, the second supporting an old cavalry saber, the third carrying two gigantic .45 Colts in holsters.

He carried the Winchester over his arm, and still wore the grimy pith helmet. Ambrose smiled with bitter amus.e.m.e.nt. It seemed like the very sport of fate that he should be placed in the power of such a poor creature as this.

"How!" said Watusk, offering his hand with an affable smile.

Ambrose, remembering the look of his face when it rose over the bank, was sharply taken aback. He lacked a clue to the course of reasoning pursued by Watusk's mongrel mind. However, he quickly reflected that it was only by exercising his wits that he could hope to help Nesis.

He took the detestable hand and returned an offhand greeting.

"You mak' beeg mistak' you try run away," said Watusk. "You mos' safe here."

"How is that?" asked Ambrose warily.

"I your friend," said Watusk.

Ambrose suppressed the inclination to laugh.

"I keep you here so people won't hurt you," Watusk went on. "My people lak children. Pretty soon forget what they after. Pretty soon forget they mad at you. Then I let you out."

"Do you still mean to say that I killed one of your men?" demanded Ambrose hotly.

Watusk shrugged. "Myengeen say so."

"It's a lie!" cried Ambrose scornfully. An expectant look in Watusk's eye arrested him from saying more. "He's trying to find out how much Nesis told me," he thought. Aloud he said, with a shrug like Watusk himself: "Well, I'll be glad when it blows over."

"Two three day I let you out," Watusk said soothingly. "You can have anything you want."

"How is Nesis?" demanded Ambrose abruptly.

There was a subtle change in Watusk's eyes; no muscle of his face altered.