From his ambuscade he looked out upon the approaching canoe.  He was puzzled by the slowness of its progress.  At times it seemed to stand still, and he could distinguish no movement at all among its occupants.  At first he thought they were undecided as to which course to pursue, but a few minutes more sufficed to show that this was not the reason for their desultory advance.  The canoe was headed for the first channel.  The solution came when a low but clear whistle signaled over the water.  Almost instantly there came a responsive whistle from up the channel.

Philip drew a quick breath, and a new sensation brought his teeth together in sudden perplexity.  It looked as though he had a bigger fight before him than he had anticipated.

At the signal from up-stream he heard the quick dip of paddles, and the canoe cut swiftly toward him.  He drew back the hammer of Pierre’s rule, and cleared a little space through the reeds and grass so that his view into the channel was unobstructed.  Three or four well-directed shots, a quick dash out into the stream, and he would possess Jeanne.  This was his first thought.  It was followed by others, rapid as lightning, that restrained his eagerness.  The night-glow was treacherous to shoot by.  What if he should miss, or hit Jeanne—­or in the sudden commotion and destruction of his shots the canoe should be overturned?  A single error, the slightest mishap to himself, would mean the annihilation of his hopes.  Even if he succeeded in directing his shots with accuracy, both himself and Jeanne would almost immediately be under fire from those above.

He dropped back again behind the screen of reeds.  The canoe drew nearer.  A moment more and it was almost abreast of him, and his heart pounded like a swiftly beating hammer when he saw Jeanne in the stern.  She was leaning back as though unconscious.  He could see nothing of her face, but as the canoe passed within ten yards of his hiding-place he saw the dark glow of her disheveled hair, which fell thickly over the object against which she was resting.  It was but a moment’s view, and they were gone.  He had not looked at the three men in the canoe.  His whole being was centered upon Jeanne.  He had seen no sign of life—­no movement in her body, not the flutter of a hand, and all his fears leaped like brands of burning fire into his brain.  He thought of the inhuman plot which Lord Fitzhugh’s letter had revealed; in the same breath Pierre Couchee’s words rang in his ears—­“It is death—­worse than death —­for her—­”

Was Jeanne the first victim of that diabolical scheme to awaken the wrath of the northland?  In the madness which possessed him now Philip shoved out his canoe while there was still danger of discovery.  Fortunately none of the pursued glanced back, and a turn in the channel soon hid them from view.  Philip had recovered his self-possession by the time he reached the turn.  He assured himself that Jeanne was unharmed as yet, and that when he saw her she had probably fainted from excitement and terror.  Her fate still lay before her, somewhere in the deep and undisturbed forests up the Churchill.  His one hope was to remain undiscovered and to rescue her at the last moment when she was taken ashore by her captors.