Very methodically he began to make his preparations.  He untied his horse, leaving it free to descend to Snowy Gulch.  Then he packed a few of his most essential supplies, his gun and shells, such necessary camp equipment as robes, matches, soap and towels, cooking and table ware, an axe and similar necessaries.  In the way of food he laid out flour, rice, salt, and sugar, plus a few pounds of tea—­nothing else.  The entire outfit weighed less than two hundred pounds, easily carried in three loads upon the back.

In the still hour of midnight, when the forest world was swept in mystery, he carried the equipment down to the canoe that Beatrice had left the evening before.  He loaded the craft with the greatest care, balancing it now and then with his hands at the sides, and covering up the food supplies with robes and blankets.  Then he drew from his pocket a sheet of paper—­evidently a paper sack that had once held provisions, cut open and spread—­and wrote carefully, a long time, with a pencil.

He had no envelope to enclose it, no wax to seal it.  He did, however, carry a stub of a candle—­a requisite to most northern men who are obliged to build supper fires in wet forest.  Folding his letter carefully, he sealed it with tallow.  Then wrapping one of his blankets about him, he prepared to wait for the dawn.  Fenris growled and murmured in his sleep.

Ben himself had not slept the night before; and moved and stirred by his plan of the morrow, slumber did not come easily to him now.  He too murmured in his sleep and had weird, tragic dreams between sleep and wakefulness.  But the shadows paled at last.  A ribbon of light spread along the eastern horizon; the more familiar landmarks emerged—­ghosts at first, then in vivid outline, the wooded sky line strengthened; the nebulous magic of the moon died in the forest.  Birds wakened and sang; the hunting creatures crept to their lairs; sleeping flowers opened.  Morning broke on a clear, warm day.

Ben devoured a heavy breakfast—­all that he could force himself to swallow—­then prepared to wait for Beatrice.  He knew perfectly that explanations would be difficult if Neilson or one of his followers found him with the loaded boat.  It was not likely, however, that any of his enemies—­except, of course, Beatrice herself—­would venture down that way.

Just before eight he saw her come,—­first the glint of her white blouse in the green of the forest, and then the flash of her brown arms.  Her voice rang clear and sweet through the hushed depths as she called a greeting.  A moment later she was beside him.

“Go back and get your heavy coat,” he commanded.  “I’ve already been out on the water, and it’ll freeze you stiff.”