When Ray came out, and before the hermit or Chip appeared, Old Cy hurried over to the ice-house, and now Chip came forth as usual, and without a word to any one, she took the two pails and started for the landing. It was, perhaps, ten rods to this, down a narrow path winding through the scrub spruce. The morning was fair, the lake without a ripple. Above the ridge, and peeping through its topping of stunted fir, came the first glance of the sun, and Chip was happy. Old Tomah, her one and only friend for many years, was here. A something Ray had whispered the night before, now returned like a sweet note of music vibrating in her heart, and as if to add their cheer, the birds were piping all about. For weeks the cheerful words of one of Ray's songs had haunted her with its catchy rhythm:-- "Dar was an old nigger and his name was Uncle Ned, He died long 'go, long 'go." They now rose to her lips, as she neared the lake. Here she halted, filled a pail, and set it on the log landing. [Illustration: Nearer and nearer that unconscious girl it crept!] From behind a low spruce one evil, sinister eye watched her. And now Chip, still humming this ditty, glanced up at the rising sun and out over the lake. A crouching form with hideous face now emerged from behind the bush; step by step, this human panther advanced. A slow, cautious, catlike movement, without sound, as each moccasined foot touched the sand. Nearer and nearer that unconscious girl it crept! Now twenty feet away, now ten, now five! And now came a swift rush, two fierce hands enclosed the girl's face and drew her backward on to the sand. Ray and the hermit were beside the fire, and the Indian just emerging from the hut where he had slept, when Old Cy returned from the ice-house. "Where's Chip?" he questioned. "Gone after water," answered Ray. And the two glanced down the path. One, two, five minutes elapsed, and then a sudden suspicion of something wrong came to Old Cy, and, followed by Ray, he hurried to the landing. One pail of water stood on the float, both their canoes were adrift on the lake, and as Old Cy looked out, there, heading for the outlet, was a canoe! One swift glance and, "My God, he's got Chip!" told the story, and with face fierce in anger, he darted back, grasped his rifle, and returned. The canoe, its paddler bending low as he forced it into almost leaps, was scarce two lengths from the outlet. Old Cy raised his rifle, then lowered it. Chip was in that canoe! His avenging shot was stayed. And now Old Tomah leaped down the path, rifle in hand. One look at the vanishing canoe, and his own, floating out upon the lake, told him the tale, and without a word he turned and, plunging into the undergrowth, leaping like a deer over rock and chasm, vanished at the top of the ridge. CHAPTER XII "The man that won't bear watchin' needs it." --Old Cy Walker.