It had not the ring of truth. "Rot!" exclaimed Sam. "Why should they want to kill me?"

Having no answer ready, she remained silent.

"You're lying now!" cried Sam. "The truth is, you were sore because I wasn't after you like the rest. I know women!"

Bela made an angry movement.

"What's the matter wit' you?" she said defiantly. "You t'ink you so big and clever! W'at you know about me? If you stop cursing me all the tam maybe you see w'at I am! If you act good to me I good to you!"

"Do you expect me to take off my hat and thank you for the privilege of being tied up and carried off?" demanded Sam.

She hung her head. "I sorry for that," she muttered sullenly.

"Huh! Sorry won't mend anything," said Sam.

"I want be friends," she murmured.

"If you're honest you'll get the paddles and put me ash.o.r.e."

She shook her head. "Not let you go till you friends wit' me."

Sam laughed harshly. "That's good! You'll wait a long time. Hope you've got grub enough. Friendship! Rubbish! You let me go and we'll talk."

She stood in sullen silence. Sam abruptly picked up his blankets and turned to go.

At his move a different sound escaped her. Her hands went to her breast. "Sam--please----"

He paused. "What do you want?"

"Sam--I say I sorry. I say I a fool."

He stood in uncomfortable silence.

"I say I fool," she repeated. "That not easy to say."

Still he had no answer.

"Why you so hard to me?" she demanded rebelliously. "Can't you see in my heart? There is nothing but good in there for you. I want you be good to me. I want you come wit' me so bad. So I act foolish."

Her simplicity surprised and suddenly softened him. Alone with her, and in the all-concealing dusk, his queasy pride was not obliged to take up arms. In return he was as simple and direct as she.

"Oh! I'm sorry, too," he said in an uncertain voice--and regretfully.

"If you're like that--if you're on the square. Something might have come of it. But you've spoiled it. You've put me on my guard against you for ever. A man has his pride. A man has to choose. He can't submit to a woman. You wouldn't want a tame man. I'm sorry!"

They stood looking at each other with an odd wistfulness.

"Go back to your own fire," Bela said in a m.u.f.fled voice.

CHAPTER XII

THE NEXT DAY

Sam was awakened by the rising sun. He arose sore in spirit and unrefreshed. It promised to be a brilliant day, with a gentle breeze from the west. Such a wind would blow him to the foot of the lake, the nearest sh.o.r.e, and, observing it, he immediately started to drag the logs he had collected down to the water's edge, careless now if Bela discovered what he was about. Let her try to stop him if she dared!

Building a raft promised to be no easy task. He was without hammer and nails, and he had not been long enough in the country to learn how it might be done without. His only tool was a pocket knife.

After several fruitless experiments, he hit upon the scheme of lashing the logs together with withes of willow. It promised to be an all-day job, and a clumsy one at the best. Still, if the wind held fair and light, it might serve. Raising a mast presented another problem. He deferred consideration of that until he got the raft built.

After a while Bela appeared around the sh.o.r.e, bringing his breakfast.

Sam essayed taking a leaf out of her book by making believe to be oblivious of her. She put the plate down and watched him for a while.

Sam, under her gaze, became horribly conscious of the crudeness of his handiwork, but he worked ahead, whistling.

Finally she said scornfully: "You can't get to sh.o.r.e on that."

No answer from Sam.

"When you sit down, her bend in the middle. Water come over you. Raft got be hard lak a floor."

Another silence.

"W'en wind blow she all bus' up."

No answer being forthcoming, Bela shrugged and sat down in the sand as if she meant to spend the morning there. She gazed across the lake.

Sam scowled and fidgeted. Something told him that when it came to holding one's tongue, Bela could beat him hollow. He worked doggedly on, careful never to look in her direction.

After a while the astonishing girl rose and said calmly: "I tak you to sh.o.r.e in my canoe now."

Sam dropped his willow strips and stared. "Eh?"

"I say I ready tak you to sh.o.r.e now," she repeated.

"What does this mean?" Sam demanded.

She shrugged slightly. "Ask no question. Come, if you want."

"To what sh.o.r.e?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Anywhere. Better go to little river, I guess. Wind blow us there to-day. Maybe blow hard after."

"What are you up to now?" he muttered.

She had already turned up the beach. "I go get ready," she said over her shoulder. "Better come quick."

She disappeared around the sh.o.r.e, leaving him much perturbed in mind.