They made for the water, found the raft hidden in a clump of reeds and uninjured, and stepped upon it. In ten minutes’ time from the appearance of the new factor in the sum they were moving steadily, if slowly, down a stream so wide that in Europe it would have been called a river. The glare from the burning cabin faded, the flaming mass itself shrunk until it looked a burning bush, then dwindled to a star. The noise of the struggle upon the mount was with them longer, but at length it, too, died away. "Which will conquer?" said Patricia at last, from where she crouched at the feet of Landless, who stood erect, poling. "The Ricahecrians were the stronger," he answered. "But they may be so handled that they will not come at us again. That must be our hope." There followed a long silence, broken by Patricia. "The baby," she said in a quivering voice, "the poor, pretty, innocent little thing!" "It is well with it," said Landless. "It is spared all toil and suffering. It is better as it is." "The man and woman went together," said Patricia, still with the sob in her voice. "They would have chosen it so, I think. But the poor Indian—" "He was my friend," said Landless slowly, "and I brought him death." "It is I that brought him death!" cried Patricia, tossing up her arms. "I that shall bring you death!" Her voice rose into a cry that echoed drearily from the hills about them, and she beat her hands against the raft with a sudden passion. "You would bring me no unwelcome gift," said Landless steadily, "provided only that the time when I could serve you with my life were past." She did not answer, and they floated on in silence down the little river, between banks lined with dwarf willows and sighing reeds. With the dawn they came to rapids through which they could not pilot their frail craft. Leaving the water, they turned their faces towards the rising sun, and pursued their journey through the forest that seemed to stretch to the end of the world. *CHAPTER XXXIII* *THE FALL OF THE LEAF*