"You won't get her," Norman replied. "She is my daughter, and you must not touch her."
"Your daughter, be damned! You ain't got no daughter. You can't git that off on us. She's in the other room, an' we want her quick."
What Norman said in reply Jean could not understand, for the noise the men were making. But she did hear some one trying the door, and cursing because he could not get it open. She knew now that the critical moment had arrived. There was no time to lose. She must leave the place and nee to the shelter of the forest. That was her only hope.
By the dim light of the dying fire she donned the coat, cap and mitts that Kitty had made for her. Then seizing her snow-shoes, she cautiously opened the back door. As she did so she could hear the other door creaking beneath the weight of several bodies pressing against it from the opposite side. That it would soon give way she felt certain, so she must make her escape while there was time. Stepping out into the night, she looked fearfully around. Seeing no one, she sped along the trail, and in another minute was within the sheltering arms of the great forest. Here she paused and looked back. Nothing could she see but the house standing black and drear in the midst of the little clearing.
It took her but a few minutes to arrange her snowshoes on her feet, and she had just straightened herself up from her stooping position when a crash and a medley of shouts fell upon her ears. She knew the meaning of these sounds, and her heart beat wildly. The door had been burst open, and the men were in the room searching for her. Presently she saw several come out of the house and look around. Waiting to see no more, she sped along the trail which stretched out before her. Never had she travelled with such speed, her great fear urging her forward. Would the slashers follow her? she asked herself. At times she stopped and listened with the strained attention of a hunted animal. But nothing could she hear, so encouraged she pressed onward.
At first she did not find the walking difficult, owing partly to her excitement and the freedom she felt in being away from the house of dread. She had no trouble in following the trail, for sufficient light sifted down through the trees to show the beaten track. She wondered who had travelled that way as she had not heard Norman refer to any one coming from the great river. She had no idea as to the time of night, although she hoped that it might be late for then she could look forward more hopefully to the dawn. That the trail would lead her to the mast-cutters she had not the slightest doubt, so this gave her considerable comfort.
She had been travelling about an hour when the snow began to fall. Among the trees it did not at first impede her progress, but she could tell by the roaring overhead that a heavy storm was abroad. When crossing a wild meadow or a small inland lake she experienced some of the force of the wind, and the snow almost blinded her. She was always glad when the trail led once more into the shelter of the woods.
At length, however, a sudden weariness came upon her. The walking grew heavy, and she was finding much difficulty in following the trail. Occasionally she stepped aside and sank into the deep snow, out of which she struggled with great effort. Each time it was harder to extricate herself, and her feet would slip provokingly off the snow-shoes. And all the time the storm increased in fury, reminding her of that other storm when she was at the little lake. But it had a different meaning to her now. As it tore through the branches overhead it sounded like the voice of destruction rather than grand martial music. The swaying and creaking trees seemed like an army of monsters about to fall upon her. The helplessness of her situation overwhelmed her. What could she do against the fury of the elements? Why had she ventured forth alone and unaided? It was foolish to think that she could reach the mast-cutters. But then she knew that the forces of nature were more merciful than those wretched slashers she had left behind. Better to fall in the midst of the great forest, and let the snow enshroud her body, than to allow brutes in the forms of men to lay their vile hands upon her. But she would win. She must not give up. She would go on.
Step by step she slowly pushed her way through the forest and the night. She longed for morning, for the blessed light of day to dispel the gloomy shades around her. But it was a long time coming, and she was so weary. Often now she paused to rest, each time longer than the last. At length she felt that she could go no farther. She could not find the trail from which she had wandered, and the snow was deep. She floundered about for a few minutes, and then with a cry of despair she looked wildly around. What was she to do? She knew that she was lost, yes, lost in the mighty woods where no aid could reach her. She thought of the mast-cutters. She must reach them, and warn them of their danger. What would her father and Dane think if she failed in her duty? But would they ever know of the efforts she had made? Would her body ever be found? No, no, it must not be. She would not give up. She must not die there. The mast-cutters must be warned.
Under the inspiration of this resolve she again started forward. She pressed bravely on her way, wearily dragging her snow-shoes which now were so heavy. For a few minutes she moved onward. But her strength was soon spent, and a great weakness swept upon her. She staggered from side to side, and fought hard to stand upright. She grew bewildered, and the trees seemed to be whirling around her. The roaring of the storm overhead sounded like the voice of a demon mocking at her despair. She could endure it no longer; she felt that she was going out of her mind.