Beneath bright sunlight, a vast wilderness is at best a place peopled by many terrors. Its solitude seems uncanny, its shadow fearsome, its silence ominous. The creaking of limbs moving in the breeze sounds like the shriek of demons; the rush of winds becomes the hiss of serpents. Vague terrors assail one on every hand, and the rustle of each dry leaf, or breaking of every twig, becomes the footfall of a savage beast. We advance only with caution, oft halting to look and listen. A stern, defiant _Presence_ seems everywhere confronting us, and the weird mysticism of Nature bids us beware. By night this invisible Something becomes of monstrous proportions. Ghosts fashion themselves out of each rift of light, and every rock, thick-grown tree-top, or dark shadow becomes a goblin. To Chip, educated only in the fantastic lore of Old Tomah, these terrors now became insanity-breeding. She could not turn back--better death among the spites than slaving to the half-breed; and so, faint from awful fear, gasping from miles of running, she stumbled on. And now a little hope came, for the road bent down beside the river, and its low voice seemed a word of cheer. Into its cool depths she could at least plunge and die, as a last resort. Soon an opening showed ahead, and a bridge appeared. Here, for the first time, on this vantage point, she halted. How thrice blessed those knotted logs now seemed! She hugged and patted them in abject gratitude. She crawled to the edge and looked over into the dark, gurgling water. Up above lay a faint ripple of silver. Here, also, she could see the moon almost at the zenith, and a few flickering stars. A trifle of courage and renewal of hope now came. Her face and hands were scratched and bleeding, clothing torn, feet and legs black with mud. But these things she neither noticed nor felt--only that blessed bridge of logs that gave her safety, and the moon that bade her hope. Then she began to count her chances. This landmark told her that five miles of her desperate journey had been covered and she was still alive. She began to calculate. How soon would her escape be discovered, and who would pursue her? Only Pete, her purchaser, she felt sure, and there was a possible chance that he might return to his cabin before doing so. Or perhaps he might sleep late, and thus give her one or two hours more of time. [Illustration: All the goblin forms and hideous shapes of Old Tomah's fancy were rushing and leaping about.]