For an instant he thought of abandoning the plan.  It was not too late.  The other scows could be run through in the morning, and, if Pierre Lapierre came, would it not be plain that Chenoine had lied?  But, even with the thought, the avaricious gleam leaped into the man’s eyes, and with a muttered imprecation, he greeted the first faint light of dawn.

Chloe Elliston opened her eyes sleepily in answer to a gruff call from without her tent.  A few minutes later she stepped out into the grey of the morning, followed by her two companions.  Vermilion was waiting for her as he watched the scowmen breaking open the freight pieces and making up hurried trail-packs of provisions.

“Tam to mush!” sad the man tersely.

“But where are the other scows?” asked Chloe, glancing toward the bank where the scow was being rapidly unloaded.  “And what is the meaning of this?  Here, you!” she cried, as a half-breed ripped the burlap from a bale.  “Stop that!  That’s mine!” By her side, Vermilion laughed, a short, harsh laugh, and the girl turned.

“De scow, she not com’.  We leave de rivaire.  We tak’ ’long de grub, eh?” The man’s tone was truculent—­insulting.

Chloe flushed with anger.  “I am not going to leave the river!  Why should I leave the river?”

Again the man laughed; there was no need for concealment now.  “Me, Vermilion, I’m know de good plac’ back in de hills.  We go for stay dere till you pay de money.”

“Money?  What money?”

“Un hondre t’ousan’ dollaire—­cash!  You pay, Vermilion—­he tak’ you back.  You no pay—­” The man shrugged significantly.

The girl stared, dumbfounded.  “What do you mean?  One hundred thousand dollars!  Are you crazy?”

The man stepped close, his eyes gleaming wickedly.  “You reech.  You pay un hondre t’ousan’ dollaire, or, ba gar, you nevaire com’ out de bush!”

Chloe laughed in derision.  “Oh!  I am kidnapped!  Is that it?  How romantic!” The man scowled.  “Don’t be a fool, Vermilion!  Do you suppose I came into this country with a hundred thousand dollars in cash—­or even a tenth of that amount?”

The man shrugged indifferently. “Non, but you mak’ de write on de papaire, an’ Menard, he tak’ heem to de bank—­Edmonton—­Preence Albert.  He git de money.  By-m-by, two mont’, me’be, he com’ back.  Den, Vermilion, he tak’ you close to de H.B. post—­bien!  You kin go hom’, an’ Vermilion, he go ver’ far away.”

Chloe suddenly realized that the man was in earnest.  Her eyes flashed over the swarthy, villainous faces of the scowmen, and the seriousness of the situation dawned upon her.  She knew, now, that the separating of the scows was the first move in a deep-laid scheme.  Her brain worked rapidly.  It was evident that the men on the other scows were not party to the plot, or Vermilion would not have risked running the Chute in the darkness.  She glanced up the river.  Would the other scows come on?  It was her one hope.  She must play for time.  Harriet Penny sobbed aloud, and Big Lena glowered.  Again Chloe laughed into the scowling face of the half-breed.  “What about the Mounted?  When they find I am missing there will be an investigation.”