After that she lay still, her eyes blazing.
Stonor proceeded. This part of the river was narrow and fairly deep, and the current ran steadily and slow. Through breaks in the ranks of the trees he caught sight from time to time of the bench on either hand, which now rose in high bold hills. From this he guessed that he had got back to the true prairie country again. As is always the case in that country, the slope to the north of the river was grassy, while the southerly slope was heavily wooded to the top.
He peered around each bend with a fast-beating heart, but Imbrie’s camp proved to be not so near as he had expected. He put a mile behind him, and another mile, and there was still no sign of it. Evidently the woman had not made her way through the bush, as he had supposed, but had been dropped off to wait for him. After giving him his quietus she had no doubt intended to take his canoe and join her party. Well, it was another lovely morning, and Stonor was thankful her plan had miscarried.
The river took a twist to the southward. The sun rose and shot his beams horizontally through the tree-trunks, lighting up the underbrush with a strange golden splendour. It was lovely and slightly unreal, like stage-lighting. The surface of the river itself seemed to be dusted with light. Far overhead against the blue, so tender and so far away at this latitude, eagles circled and joyously screamed, each one as if he had an intermittent alarm in his throat.
In the bow the woman lay glaring at him venomously. Stonor could not help but think: “What a gorgeous old world to be fouled with murder and hatred!”
At last, as he crept around an overhanging clump of willows, he saw what he was in search of, and his heart gave a great leap. Arresting his paddle, he clung to the branches and peered through, debating what to do. They were still far off and he had not been perceived. With straining eyes he watched the three tiny figures that meant so much to him. Unfortunately there was no chance of taking Imbrie by surprise, for he had had the wit to choose a camping-place that commanded a view down-stream for half a mile. Stonor considered landing, and attempting to take them from the rear, but even as he looked he saw Imbrie loading the dug-out. They would be gone long before he could make his way round through the bush. There was nothing to do but make a dash for it.
They saw him as soon as he rounded the bend. There was a strange dramatic quality in the little beings running this way and that on the beach. Stonor, straining every nerve to reach them, was nevertheless obliged to be the witness of a drama in which he was powerless to intervene. He saw Imbrie throw what remained of his baggage into the dug-out. He saw the two petticoated figures start running up the beach towards him, Stonor. Imbrie started after them. The larger of the two figures dropped back and grappled with the man, evidently to give the other a chance to escape. But Imbrie succeeded in flinging her off, and, after a short chase, seized the other woman. Stonor could make out the little green Norfolk suit now.
Mary snatched up a billet of wood, and as the man came staggering back with his burden, she attacked him. He backed towards the dug-out, holding Clare’s body in front of him as a shield. But under Mary’s attacks he was finally compelled to drop Clare. She must have fainted, for she lay without moving. Imbrie closed with Mary, and there was a brief violent struggle. He succeeded in flinging her off again. He reached the dug-out. Mary attacked him again. Snatching up his gun, he fired at her point-blank. She crumpled up on the stones.
Imbrie picked up Clare and flung her in the dug-out. He pushed off. All this had been enacted in not much more time than it takes to read of it. Stonor was now within a furlong, but still helpless, for he dared not fire at Imbrie for fear of hitting Clare. The dug-out escaped out of sight round a bend.