They pushed on, indeed, rapidly for half a mile, guided by the lantern, which Axel had relighted. Then the boy, overcome by the tobacco, had to be left, miserably sick, in a heap by the roadside. Beveridge snatched the lantern from his heedless fingers, thrust a bill into his pocket by way of payment, and the party pushed on. CHAPTER XI--THURSDAY NIGHT--VAN DEELEN'S BRIDGE [Illustration: 0302] THE stars were shining down on the stream that passed sluggishly under Van Deelen's bridge, but they found no answering twinkle there. A gloomy stream it was, winding a sort of way through the little farm, coming from--somewhere, off in the pines; going to--somewhere, off in the pines; brown by day, black by night; the only silent thing in the breathing, crackling forest. It seemed to come from the north, gliding out from under the green-black canopy with a little stumble of white foam, as if ashamed in the light of the clearing. Then, sullen as ever, it settled back, slipped under the bridge--where the road from Lindquist's swung sharply down--with never a swirl, and gave itself up to the pines and hemlocks that bent over. Behind the barn-yard it circled westward, and paralleled the road for a few hundred yards, as if it, too, were bound for Hewittson; but changed its mind, turned sharply south, and was gone. Whither? The muskrats and minks perhaps could tell. The clearing, in spite of the house and barn, was desolate; the pines were pressing irresistibly in on every side to claim the land Dirck van Deelen had stolen from them. The road, after crossing the bridge, lost itself in the confused tracks between house and barn, only to reappear on the farther side and plunge again into the forest,--a weary, yellow road, telling of miles of stump land as well as of the fresher forest. It was late, very late, but there was a light in the house. A woman, in man's clothing, lay on the parlor sofa, too tired to rest. She was white; her breath came hard; her eyes were too bright. McGlory stood over her with a pair of scissors in his hand. He had cut off her long hair, and now it lay curling on the floor. “Here, you,”--he was speaking to Van Deelen,--“get a broom and take that up. Be quick about it. What are you gawking at?” Van Deelen, slow of movement and slower of thought, obeyed. “Now,” said McGlory to the woman, “come along!” And he took her arm. “Oh, no, Joe! I can't go! It will kill me!” “Cut that--get up!” Roche, who had been eating in the next room, came in, looked at them, and then hurried out, where the leader of the party awaited him. “Aren't they 'most ready?” “Yes--coming right along--if it don't kill her.” But when they heard a step and turned, only the woman appeared in the doorway. “Where's Joe, Estelle?”