He got up, and removing his outer coat, rolled in his blankets.  The night hours began their mystic march across the face of the wilderness.

Now was the time to act.  As far as she could tell, the three men were deeply asleep:  at least the likelihood would be as great as at any time later in the night.  The fire was a heap of gray ashes except for its red-hot center:  the kyack was in gloom.  Very softly she crept through the thickets, meanwhile encircling the dying fire, and came up behind it.

Now it was almost in reach:  now her hands were at its loops.  She started to lift it in her arms.

But disaster still dogged her trail.  Ray Brent had been too wary of attack, to-night, to sink easily into deep slumber.  He heard the soft movement as Beatrice lifted the heavy canvas bag off the ground; and with a startled oath sprang to his feet.

He leaped like a panther.  “Who’s there?” he cried.

Sensing immediate discovery the girl placed all her hope in flight.  Perhaps yet she could lose her pursuers in the darkness.  Still trying to hold the kyack of food that meant life to Ben, she turned and darted into the shadows.

Like a wolf Ray sped after her.  The moonlight showed her fleeing figure in the trees, and shouting aloud he sprang through the coverts to intercept her flight.  The chase was of short duration thereafter.  Emburdened by the heavy box she could not watch her step; and a protruding root caught cruelly at her ankle.  She was hurled with stunning force to the ground.

Desperate and intent, but in realization of impending triumph, Ray’s strong arms went about her.

XXXIX

For the second time in his life Ray Brent felt the sting of Beatrice’s strong hand against his face.  In the desperation of fear she had smote him with all her force.  His arms withdrew quickly from about her; and her wide, disdainful eyes beheld a sinister change in his expression.  The moonlight was in his eyes, silver-white; and they seemed actually to redden with fury, and again she saw that queer, ghastly twitching at the corner of his lips.  The girl’s defiance was broken with that one blow.  She dropped her head, then walked past him into the presence of her father.

Neilson and Chan were on their feet now, and they regarded her in the utter silence of amazement.  Breathing fast, Ray came behind her.

“Build up the fire, Chan,” he said in a strange, grim voice.  “We want to see what we’ve caught.”

Obediently Chan kicked the coals from under the ashes, and began to heap on broken pieces of wood.  The sticks smoked, then a little tongue of yellow flame crept about the fuel.  But still the emburdened silence continued—­the white-faced girl in the ring of silent, watching men.

Slowly the fire’s glow crept out to her, revealing—­even better than the bright moonlight—­her wide, frightened eyes and the dark, speculative faces of the men.  Then Ray spoke sharply in his place.