next afternoon the tewksbury left for gisborne portage again, with ralph, joe mixer, and stack for passengers. stack had said to ralph: "i'll just make the trip up and back on her. it's a chance for a tenderfoot like me to see the country." this seemed natural enough. perfect amity prevailed during the trip. stack affected a great admiration for ralph; joe mixer was friendly. ralph himself held to the role of reticent good nature that he had assumed. privately he was a good deal bothered, in the light of the story he had told at the fort, as to how he was going to make a getaway at the portage.

they arrived at the same time as on the previous trip, and ralph as before was invited to spend the night in the bunkhouse.

"thanks," he said easily; "i think i'll put up a tent. i've got the craze for sleeping out of doors."

"i'll sleep out with you," said stack.

"the mosquitoes will eat you up," said ralph coolly. "i've got only a one man shelter."

he pitched his tent on the edge of the river bank, across a little muskeg from mixer and staley's buildings. he ostentatiously went to bed at an early hour. as soon as everything was quiet he crept out, and hoisting the bundle which contained his boat to his back, started to climb the portage trail.

at two o'clock he returned. making all the rest of his baggage into a pack, he got away again before the dawn began to break. at five he was on the shore of the lake with all his belongings. at six he had his boat set up and packed, and was setting off. all these movements were reported to joe mixer later.

ralph, thrusting his paddle into the water which would eventually bear him back to nahnya, felt like an exile coming into his own country again. the world and its business, which obtruded irritatingly on his dreams, was all behind him, and when he stepped into his boat he left his matter-of-fact self on the shore. this was nahnya's land. with the keenest satisfaction he gazed around him, letting the scene photograph itself on his brain. ralph never forgot anything that he had once looked at squarely. seeing the quaint islands, he smiled. "nature's shop-window," he thought, "setting out her spring line."

entering the little river the reeds and the lily pads presented familiar faces, and every bend recalled the previous journey, evoking the presence of nahnya so strongly that he had an actual physical consciousness of her sitting behind him, seeing all that he saw. he played with the idea, forbearing to turn his head that he might not dispel the comforting illusion.

he had intended stopping at each place where they had spelled on the first journey, but this he found was impracticable, no matter how hard he worked. his tubby craft could never make the headway of the slender dugout, and his paddle lacked the skill of nahnya's. in the rapids he was soon in trouble, but here the elastic sides of his coracle proved an advantage. she bounced off the rounded boulders without taking any harm. when she ran high and dry it was no great matter to step out into the shallow stream and guide her back to the channel.

though he paddled until near dark he had to go ashore several miles short of their first camping-place. it was on a grassy point in the middle of a quiet reach of the river that he chose to spend his first night alone in the silence. solitude, silence, and darkness, older than all created things, are terrific to us newest creatures with nervous systems. very few of us know them really. in an inhabited land at any hour of any season there is no such thing as silence. ralph sat beside his fire thrilling in the presence of the ancient sisters. he was weighed down, overwhelmed, intimidated. he felt as if he and his little fire existed like an island in an infinite void.

all this was changed by the cheery sun. he continued his journey downstream joyfully. these two days that he spent entirely cut off from his kind ever afterward lingered in ralph's mind with a flavour distinct from all the other days of his life. away from all the distracting business of life, nor tugged opposing ways by human associations, it was as if he had come face to face with his own self for the first time. it seemed as if the fetters of the flesh were a little loosened, enabling him to feel more keenly, and to think with a greater lucidity.

this increased sensibility was for evil as well as good. while the river seemed even lovelier, if possible, than upon the previous journey, side by side with the pleasure he had in it, a premonition of evil entered ralph's breast. "something is going to happen," a voice whispered to him. he sought to laugh it away, but it stuck. he could not but remember the stories that are told in the north of how men living alone in the woods become gifted with a prescience of what is to come.

with a vague feeling that escape from the danger lay ahead, he paddled until ten o'clock that night. darkness was then falling, and his weary arms could scarcely lift the paddle. he camped on the river in the spot where they had dined on the second day of the other journey. he fell asleep with the premonition like a cold hand on his breast.

"an instant later a long dugout swept into view, with four men in it"

"an instant later a long dugout swept into view, with four men in it"

in the morning it awakened him all of a piece. he abruptly sat up to listen. there was no sound. "what is the matter with me?" he thought wonderingly. "something is upon you," that still voice seemed to whisper. he looked to his gun. his heart failed him a little, he was so terribly alone. inside him he offered up an unspoken prayer that whatever was coming might come quickly, before fear of the unknown should unman him.

hastily cooking his breakfast, he never ceased to listen; therefore he was scarcely surprised when he finally heard the most startling sound in the wilderness—human voices. an instant later a long dugout swept into view upstream with four men in it. courage warmed ralph's breast again; to be sure it was bad enough, but it was real.

at sight of ralph the men in the dugout set up a shout. arriving abreast of his camp they swung around and beached their craft below. in the bow was a white man strange to ralph, joe mixer and stack sat amidships, while the stern paddle was wielded by a handsome, muscular young half-breed. they all got out. ralph awaited them on the top of the bank. burly joe approached with an anticipatory, cynical grin; little stack kept partly behind him.

"hello, pardner!" cried joe.

ralph, seeing that he actually expected to keep up the fiction of friendliness, smiled grimly. "what do you want?" he asked.

ralph's warning of danger had served him well. joe, seeing him cool and prepared, was completely disconcerted. "what do i want?" he repeated, falling back with a scowl. "that's a hell of a nice good-morning to hand out to a man!"

"what were you looking for?" asked ralph, "an address of welcome?"

joe turned purple, and shook his fist. "i'll show you!" he cried.

little stack stepped from behind joe. physical terror gave his face a greenish cast, but his chagrin at seeing his careful plans about to be destroyed was stronger still. it emboldened him to put himself in front of joe. "wait!" he implored. "you mustn't quarrel! let me explain!"

joe turned aside with a muttered oath.

a fawning note crept into stack's voice. "we've taken the doctor by surprise," he said. "he thinks we're spying on him. you can't hardly blame him."

"you're a good guesser, stack," said ralph grimly.

"it's nothing of the kind!" cried stack virtuously. "you must remember i told you long ago i wanted to take a trip through the wilds if i could get a chance. mr. mixer was willing to go, so i engaged him and these men to guide me."

"why explain?" said ralph. "it's nothing to me. the river is free to all."

"i didn't expect this from you," said stack, with an aggrieved air. "i thought we were friends. what have you got against me?"

"nothing," said ralph; "but you're in bad company."

joe could no longer hold himself in. his face was purple. "who the hell do you think you are?" he cried thickly. "you stinking dude! you smooth-face poisoner! you rah-rah college boy. it makes my stomach turn to hear you lisping! what are you doing in a man's country? go home to your pink teas and your toe-dancing!"

ralph could not help but smile at the style of joe's invective. the smile maddened joe. the foulest dregs of english speech were fished up to express his feelings. the other white man laughed obsequiously. he was in joe's pay. the half-breed pitched pebbles into the stream, handsome and unconcerned. ralph took it all steely eyed and smiling still.

"you stand there like a little gorramighty!" cried joe, with a string of oaths. "what can you do against the four of us? we've got you where we want you now, and you know it! you'll be singing another tune before we're done with you!"

"now you're talking!" cried ralph, bright-eyed. "the truth is coming out at last!"

stack all but wrung his hands at the turn things were taking. "gentlemen! gentlemen!" he implored.

"ahh! shut your head," snarled joe. "you hate him as much as me!"

stack turned paler still, and darted a furtive look at ralph, and cringed and tried to smile indulgently. "don't listen to him," he said to ralph. "you've made him mad. he don't mean what he says. it wasn't half an hour ago he said to me, 'won't it be sport to surprise the doctor?' there's no need for you to quarrel like this. we don't want to intrude upon your privacy. come to our camp to supper to-night, and talk things over quiet, and shake hands on it."

ralph preferred joe's honest obscenity to this. he made no answer.

"ah! come on!" said joe. "i'm sick of your palaver!"

he pulled the smaller man back to the dugout. stack got in, nodding and smiling over his shoulder in a comic and pitiable attempt to propitiate the grim ralph. they pushed off. as the dugout disappeared around the first bend below, stack actually had the effrontery to wave his hand to ralph.

ralph sat down to do some hard thinking. his charming dreams were rudely shattered, and like every man suddenly roused to action, he felt a little ashamed at having been caught dreaming. he remembered precautions he might have taken had he been wide awake. when his anger cooled—in spite of the smile he had been no less angry than joe mixer—he was a little appalled by his situation. four against one is heavy odds. if he had had even so much as a dog to keep watch while he slept! how could he venture to sleep and leave himself open to a night attack? he resolutely put that unnerving thought out of his head. "i shall travel exactly as if they had not come!" he decided.

the more he thought, the greater loomed his difficulties. in a manner of speaking he was trapped in the river just the same as if they had him on a road between high and unscalable walls. he could not go back against the current, and he could not leave the river. with his clumsy boat and one paddle, against their dugout and four, there was not the slightest possibility of his escaping them downstream. they were free to follow him at their leisure, and play with him like cat and mouse.

ralph was amazed, as any open-hearted man might be, at the suddenness of the discovery that he had active and malignant enemies. joe mixer's hatred he instinctively understood, and returned. those two had been formed to hate each other. he likewise understood now that the evil fire nahnya had lighted in joe's breast was no mere ephemeral flame. it was clear that joe hoped to reach nahnya through him. "i'll lead him a chase," ralph thought grimly. this brought up the thought that joe might be the means of keeping him from returning to nahnya. ralph ground his teeth at that, and understood the desire to murder that is born in men's breasts.

in stack ralph realized he had a more dangerous enemy than joe. in vain he threshed his brain to discover a reason for stack's being in joe's galley. he had never laid eyes on the little man until they took their places in the stage together. it was true he had never thought much of the little jackstraw, but there had never been anything but friendly exchanges between them. there was a mystery here that tantalized him.

the upshot of his cogitations was, ralph decided to accept stack's invitation to visit their camp that night—not to eat with them, ralph's gorge rose at the idea, but to go after supper. "it'll surprise 'em," he thought grimly. "nothing like bearding them in their own den. i'm bound to find out something. one man's strength isn't enough against four. i've got to use all the wits i have, too. i've got to meet them on their own ground, lie for lie. beastly crooks! i'll go further than lying if necessary to keep them out!"

all day they remained ahead of him in the river, about nine o'clock, while it was still fully light, he came upon their camp in the accustomed camping-place where nahnya had stopped on the second night of the previous journey; the spot where nahnya and ralph had effected their midnight reconciliation. there was the little grassy shelf in the bank where she had lain! the coarse voices of the men above profaned the scene horribly.

ralph's face as he climbed the bank was serene. his greeting was as bland and off-hand as a schoolboy's. the four men were sitting on the ground playing "jackpot." as ralph had pleasurably anticipated, their jaws dropped upon his appearance. only stack answered his greeting. cards in hand, the little man jumped up obsequiously, but joe mixer barked at him, and he sat down abruptly. joe scowled at his cards like a hangman. the game proceeded as if ralph were not there.

ralph's cheeks began to burn at the implied insult, but he clapped his anger under hatches. he saw clearly enough that joe was waiting for him to make an opening for a quarrel. drawing closer, he coolly overlooked the game. they had a folded blanket between them to play the cards upon. in lieu of chips they used matches. the half-breed was winning. he was a fine specimen of physical manhood a year or two younger than ralph, with a bold, conceited face. he scarcely took pains to hide his contempt for the three white men of his party, and ralph observed that even joe was inclined to truckle to him like a bully to one whose strength he has not measured. stack was obsequious all around. in the third white man ralph recognized crusoe campbell, a disreputable character well known up and down the river of that name. he had the reputation of being not quite right in his head, which he traded upon to his advantage. his wits were good enough to play a crafty game of poker.

so much for ralph's observations. "a rum outfit!" he thought grimly.

when the cards were collected for a fresh deal ralph asked coolly: "what are the stakes?"

"nickel a match," answered crusoe campbell.

"give me the worth of that," he said, throwing a five-dollar bill on the blanket. "you," he said, indicating the half-breed, "what's your name?"

"philippe boisvert," the breed announced swaggeringly.

crusoe campbell and philippe made room between them and ralph sat down. all looked covertly at joe to see how he would take it. joe, still scowling, kept his eyes down and said nothing. the game went on. ralph's bluff was as yet uncalled.

outwardly as cool as the ideal poker-player, ralph was on the qui vive for an explosion. under stress of excitement, his spirits soared like a bird taking wing. the corners of his lips twitched provokingly, and the shine of a hidden fire glowed in his dark eyes. he bet recklessly, winning and losing with equal good humour. his good humour communicated itself to three of the other players. all men love a good gambler. the ill-assorted game became almost jolly. only joe grew more and more morose. his face turned an ugly brownish red, and a vein stood out ominously on his forehead.

when the explosion took place it was not directed at ralph. stack, carried away by the appearance of general good feeling, during a pause while the cards were being shuffled had the misfortune to say, addressing joe and ralph: "you two ought to shake hands and let bygones be bygones."

joe mixer broke out on him so violently as to be almost comic. "you sneaking little two-faced informer!" he shouted with a whole string of oaths. "keep your lip out of my affairs, will you? i'll learn you to talk to your betters! you make me sick with your lying palaver! get the hell out of this game anyway! you ain't man enough to play poker!"

stack hastily retreated from the circle. the breed laughed. crusoe campbell quietly confiscated stack's matches.

"give me another box of cigarettes out of your bag," the breed said curtly.

"a half-breed issuing orders to a white man and being obeyed!" thought ralph.

"bring up a pail of water from the river," commanded crusoe.

the little man had already become the camp drudge, it appeared.

stack sat down at a little distance from the game with a childish assumption of injured dignity. during the deals joe alternately chaffed and reviled him coarsely. ralph could not find it in his heart to feel very sorry for the little man. "he is a sneak," he thought. he kept his ears open for any word that might throw light on this obscure and curious situation.

after a while stack said humbly: "doctor cowdray, if you please i'd like to have a word with you before you go."

"i'm damned if you do!" cried joe. "you'd like to play him off against me, wouldn't you; and me against him, and get your private pickings off the both of us! me and cowdray we ain't got no use for each other. we don't make no pretences. but you! you snide! you want to square yourself with him, don't you? after telling me you trailed him all the way from the coast!"

"i have nothing to say to you!" cried stack, with a display of childish fury that caused all three of his mates to shout with laughter.

a light broke on ralph. trailed all the way from the coast! to learn this was worth having come for! but why anybody should want to trail him was more of a mystery than ever. he determined to find out.

meanwhile the game went on with four players. the fortune of the cards changed, and joe mixer began to win, principally from ralph. his good humour was restored. this was as good a way to get square as any. as ralph's pile of matches melted away, joe triumphed insolently. he doubled and trebled the ante whenever it came to him. finally he said:

"a dollar to draw and two to play. does that scare you off, doc?"

"not at all," said ralph coolly. "this is mild beside the play in new york clubs."

"well, it ain't hard to win all you've got," snarled joe.

"three cards," said ralph to the dealer. "this is my last hand."

he had been dealt a pair of aces. he drew another ace with a pair of sixes, and a comfortable little satisfaction warmed his breast. his face was like the sphinx's. joe mixer drew two cards. ralph, watching him narrowly, saw a tiny spark of satisfaction light his eye when he looked at them, and guessed that he held three and had drawn a pair. revenge was as sweet to ralph as anybody.

joe bet in a small way, and ralph raised him modestly. the others had dropped out. joe raised again, and ralph followed suit. joe, seeing that he was not to be shaken off, began to plunge. ralph's matches were exhausted long ago, and he threw the money on the blanket, raising joe a dollar each time. joe began to breathe hard and his face became as pale as a butcher's face may, except his ears, which remained a furious crimson. he raised ralph five, and finally ten dollars at a time, hoping to bluff him out. ralph covered his bets with a smile, and each time raised him one. a respectable little hill of greenbacks grew on the blanket. crusoe and the breed eyed it hungrily. finally, when it came to joe's turn, he stopped. little beads of perspiration had sprung out on his forehead.

"what's the matter?" asked ralph innocently. "are you scared off?"

"no!" cried joe with an oath. "ain't got no more money," he added sheepishly. "don't carry it on the trail. will you take my i.o.u.?"

ralph shook his head. "a cash game, you said. i'll take back my last raise and call you instead."

joe with a great air of bravado laid down three kings and two queens.

ralph made believe to be dumbfoundered. joe grinned and reached for the money with a trembling hand; whereupon ralph counted out his three aces and his pair of little ones.

"it's a shame to take all you've got," he said softly.