Seating herself by the lad's side she told about her old home, the house among the trees, the garden with the many beautiful flowers, where the birds sang and the bees hummed.
To all this Donnie listened with wide-eyed pleasure, occasionally interrupting with a question about the birds and flowers.
So engrossed did Madeline become with her story that she forgot how the time had flown and how late was the hour. Neither did she notice a dark form gliding silently toward her through the shadowy forest, nor a trim canoe which had dropped down-stream and was now lying below the bank not far away.
"Come, Donnie!" she exclaimed; "it's getting dark, and we must hurry home."
And even as she spoke and rose to her feet, a powerful Indian leaped from a thicket of trees a few yards away, and arrested her further movement. Too startled to cry Madeline gave one lightning glance at the intruder, and then caught Donnie in her arms. At once the child was torn from her grasp, and borne swiftly to the river by the native.
Forgetting her own danger, and thinking only of the lad, with a cry Madeline sprang forward. She leaped down the bank toward the canoe, which was lying near, held close to the shore by a swarthy Indian. Him she saw not, neither did she notice a figure crouched in the bow, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, watching everything with cruel, sparkling eyes. Donnie was in the canoe! He was to be taken away, and she must save him! That was all she could think about. She saw him struggling in the arms of his captor, and reaching out appealing hands to her. She beheld the look of terror blanching his little face, and heard his piercing cry of "Malin! Malin!" ere he was silenced by a dark hand placed suddenly and roughly across his mouth.
Throwing discretion to the wind Madeline sprang into the canoe, nearly capsizing it as she did so, and snatched Donnie out of the Indian's arms. That the latter relinquished the child so readily was at first somewhat of a surprise. It was soon explained, however, for, upon turning to step ashore she found that the craft was several yards from the bank, and drifting down-stream. The Indians had seized their paddles, and the canoe was now cleaving the rippling water in its onward sweep.
Madeline at once realised her desperate situation. What did it all mean? Why was she being taken away? Had some cruel plot been formed against her?
She looked at her captors. They were calm and alert, swinging their paddles with a steady rhythmical motion. She glanced around, and the figure crouched in the bow arrested her attention. A shiver shook her form as she noted the fierce malicious gleam of the eyes which met her own. What did that woman mean by glaring at her in such a manner, and what did that look signify? What had she done to merit such action, and what lay ahead of her? That great silent river flowed on down into the vast unknown wilderness—and what then? The thought was more than she could endure. She looked wildly toward the shore. She clutched Donnie close to her breast. She scanned the banks for signs of life, some human being who would come to their rescue. The helplessness of her position overwhelmed her. Lifting up her voice she gave several wild, piercing cries for aid, and then sank to the bottom of the canoe, forced down by strong, rough hands laid fiercely upon her. This insult sent the blood surging tumultuously through her veins. But what could she do? What power had she, a woman, against these uncouth natives? She crouched there in the bottom of the craft, her hands clinched together, and her dry, clear eyes staring out over the water through the deepening gloom.
She was presently aroused by a movement near her side, and then a little soft hand stole timidly into her own. Glancing quickly down she noticed Donnie nestling close to her, and looking up appealingly into her face.