Turn and turn they took, these two, of the hindmost seat in the canoe, for the back of each was unspeakable from the spear-prods.  Without a word McElroy took his punishment as the lagging became more pronounced from arms overtaxed at the paddles, but the long-haired adventurer from the Saskatchewan taunted them to their faces.

Taunt and fling were unavailing.  Of an unearthly poise were these savages from the distant north.  With grinning good humour they withheld their anger, knowing full well that time would doubly repay.

Here and there among them appeared those worst monsters of the wilds, Indians with blue eyes and squared-out toes.

Far up ahead went forward the canoe of the dead chief, with Edmonton Ridgar sitting in silence among the blackened warriors.

Never once did he glance backward, never once at the night camps did he come near his factor.

Throughout the long days McElroy pondered this in his heart and turned it over and over without satisfaction.  Unable to form any conclusion he fell to thinking of their friendship and of the gentle nature of the man, the unbending faith of him.

It was all a sorry riddle.

“Brace up, M’sieu,” De Courtenay would laugh, even in the midst of exhaustion; “sing,—­smile,—­perhaps it will be only the stake, not something worse.  Console yourself, as do I, with—­memories.”

And McElroy would say nothing, trying in his heart to hold back his wrath against this man for whose death he was to be responsible.

So went the uneven chase.  Day’s march of the savages and night’s rest on the green shores, mummying fires in the big tepee and the captives lying in the sleep of exhaustion with one guard pacing the lodge opening,—­day’s pursuit of the lone canoe, brief landings for tea made at a micmac fire, scanning of lake and river and forest, night’s unceasing forging .ahead with Maren asleep in the prow, her head on Dupre’s blanket.

When the last hard portage was made which carried them into Deer River, the girl looked to the west with a sudden fire of the old passion in her eyes.

“So, M’sieu?” she said to Dupre, “it lies yonder, the Land of the Whispering Hills?  Would God our course lay there!”

And Dupre, wondering, answered, “Aye, at the Athabasca,” for it was to McElroy alone that she had uncovered her soul concerning the great quest.

In Deer River the signs began to be plainer and fresher, showing the passing of the Indians,—­here a camp but two days deserted, there scraps of refuse not yet cleared away by forest scavengers, and the pursuers knew they drew close to danger and excitement.

All day the men of Mowbray’s brigade bent to the paddles in growing eagerness, and at the evening’s stop Maren spoke to them, gathered around with cold rations in their hands, for no fire was lighted now.