She had only fear and disdain for these two younger men; but surely they would not refuse aid to Ben.  Yet perhaps it was best to proceed with some caution.  These were her lover’s enemies; if for no other reason than their rage at her own abduction they might be difficult to control.  Her father, in all probability, would willingly show mercy to the helpless man in the cavern—­particularly after she told him of Ben’s consideration and kindness—­but she put no faith in Ray and Chan.  She knew them of old.  Besides, she remembered there was a further consideration,—­that of a gold claim.

Could Ben have told her the truth when he had maintained that they would kill him on sight if he did not destroy them first?  Was it true that he had waged the war in defense of his own rights?  Weeks and months had passed since she had seen her father’s face:  perhaps her old control of him could no longer be relied upon.  If indeed their ownership of a rich claim depended upon Ben’s death, Ray and Chan could not be trusted at all.

She resolved to proceed with the utmost caution.  Abruptly she turned out of the beaver marsh, where the moonlight might reveal her, and followed close to the edge of the timber, a course that could not be visible from beyond the lake.  She approached the lake at its far neck, then followed back along the margin clear to the edge of the woods in which the fire was built.

In her years in the woods Beatrice had learned to stalk, and the knowledge was of value to her now.  With never a misstep she took down a little game trail toward the camp fire.  She was within fifty yards of it now—­she could make out three dark figures seated in the circle of firelight.  Walking softly but upright she pushed within ninety feet of the fire.

Then she waited, in doubt as to her course.  She was still too far distant to hear more than the murmur of their voices.  If she could just get near enough to catch their words she could probably glean some idea of their attitude toward Ben.  She pushed on nearer, through the dew-wet brush.

Impelled by the excitement under which she advanced, her old agility of motion had for the moment returned to her; and she crept softly as a fawn between the young trees.  One misstep, one rustling branch or crackling twig might give her away; but she took each step with consummate care, gently thrusting the tree branches from her path.

Once a rodent stirred beneath her feet, and she froze—­like a hunting wolf—­in her tracks.  One of the three men looked up, and she saw his face plainly through the low spruce boughs.  And for a moment she thought that this was a stranger.  It was with a distinct foreboding of disaster that she saw, on second glance, that the man was Ray Brent.

She had never seen such change in human countenance in the space of a few months.  She did not pause to analyze it.  She only knew that his eyes were glittering and fixed; and that she herself was deeply, unexplainably appalled.  The man cursed once, blasphemously, his face dusky and evil in the eerie firelight, but immediately turned back to his talk.  Beatrice crept closer.