"What way?" asked Sam.

"There's a trail from the back of our house direct to Grier's Point.

It is never used except when they bring supplies to the store in the summer. We keep very early hours. Everything is quiet by nine. I could slip out of the house and walk down the trail to meet you. We could talk a while, and I could be in again before dark."

Sam felt a little dubious, but how can a young man hold back in a matter of this kind? "All right, if you wish it," he agreed.

"I am only thinking of you," she said.

"I'll be there."

No better place for a tryst could have been found. No one ever had any occasion to use the back trail, and it was invisible for its whole length to travellers on the main road. After issuing from the woods of Grier's Point it crossed a wide flat among clumps of willows, and, climbing over the spur of a wooded hill, dropped in Beattie's back yard.

They met half-way across the flat in the tender dusk. The fairy light took away ten years of her age, and Sam experienced almost a _bona fide_ thrill of romance at the sight of her slender figure swaying over the meadow toward him.

In his grat.i.tude for her kindness he really desired to feel more warmly toward her, which is a perilous state of mind for a young man to be in. He spread his coat for her to sit on, and dropped beside her in the gra.s.s.

"Smoke your pipe," she said. "It's more cosy."

He obeyed.

"I wish I had a cigarette myself," she added with a giggle.

"Do you smoke?" asked Sam, surprised.

"No," she confessed; "but all the girls do, nowadays."

"I don't like it," said Sam bluntly.

"Of course I was only joking," she returned hastily.

Their conversation was not very romantic. Sam, with the best intentions in the world, somehow frustrated her attempts in this direction. He was propped up on one elbow beside her.

"How thick and bright your hair is!" she murmured.

"You've got some hair yourself," returned Sam politely.

She quickly put both hands up. "Ah! don't look at it. A hair-dresser spoiled it. As a child it hung below my waist."

Sam not knowing exactly what to say to this, blew a cloud of smoke.

"What a perfect night!" she breathed.

"Great!" said Sam. "That near-horse of mine, Sambo, picked up a stone on the beach this morning. I didn't discover what was making him lame until we were half-way round the bay. I wish I knew more about horses.

I pick up all I can, but you never can tell when these fellows are giving it to you straight."

"It's a shame the way they plague you!" she exclaimed warmly.

"Oh, it's nothing, now," replied Sam. "I can stand anything now that I've got a man's job. I'll make good yet. I think I can see a difference already. I think about it day and night. It's my dream. I mean, making good with these fellows. It isn't that I care so much about them either. But after what's happened. I've got to make them respect me!"

And so on, in entire innocence. Sam was aware of no feelings toward her save grat.i.tude and friendliness. Nevertheless, it would not have been the first time it happened, if these safe and simple feelings had suddenly landed him in an inextricable coil. Men are babies in such matters.

But nothing happened this night. Sam walked back with her to the foot of the hill, and they parted without touching hands.

"Shan't I see you through the wood?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Some one might see from the house. There's plenty of light yet. To-morrow night at the same time?"

"All right," said Sam.

She stood watching until he disappeared among the willows, then turned to mount the shallow hill. Down among the trunks of the big pines it was gloomier than she had expected. The patches of bright sky seemed immeasurably far overhead. The wood was full of whispers. She began to be sorry that she had let him go so soon, and hastened her steps.

Suddenly, as she neared the top of the hill, a human figure materialized in the trail before her. She was too much startled to scream. She stopped, petrified with terror, struggling to draw her breath. Its shadowy face was turned toward her. It was a very creature of night, still and voiceless. It blocked the way she had to pa.s.s. Her limbs shook under her, and a low moan of terror escaped her breast.

Finding a little strength at last, she made to dart among the trees so that she could encircle the apparition.

"Stop!" It commanded.

Miss Mackall fell half fainting against a tree.

The figure came closer to her, and she saw that it was a woman. A horrible prescience of what was coming still further demoralized her.

Women do not require explanations in words. Miss Mackall recognized the adventuress of Musquasepi, and knew what she had come for. She sought to temporize.

"What do you want?" she faltered.

"I want kill you," said Bela softly. "My finger is hungry for the trigger."

She moved slightly, and a spot of light caught the barrel of the rifle over her arm. Miss Mackall moaned again.

"What did I ever do to you?" she wailed.

"You know," replied Bela grimly. "You tried tak' my man."

"How r-ridiculous!" stuttered Miss Mackall. "He isn't yours."

"Maybe," returned Bela. "Not yet. But no ot'er woman goin' get him from me."

"It isn't my fault if he wants me."

"Want you!" cried Bela scornfully. "An old woman! You try catch him lak he a fish!"

Miss Mackall broke into a low, hysterical weeping.

"Shut up!" said Bela. "Listen to w'at I say."

"Let me go! Let me go!" wept the other woman. "I'll scream!"

"No, you won't," said Bela coolly. "You not want Gilbert Beattie know you run out at night."