The following two days showed no diminution in the efforts of the canoemen.  The wounded man’s condition remained unchanged.  Lapierre’s canoe followed at a distance of a mile or two, and a hundred times a day Chloe found herself listening with strained expectancy for the sound of the shots that would proclaim that MacNair’s Indians had overtaken them.  But no shots were fired, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that the girl welcomed the sight of her own buildings as they loomed in the clearing on the evening of the third day.

That night Lapierre visited Chloe in the cottage, where he found her seated beside MacNair’s bed, putting the finishing touches to a swathing of fresh bandages.

“How is he doing?” he asked, with a nod toward the injured man.

“There is no change,” answered the girl, as she indicated a chair close beside a table, upon which were a tin basin, various bottles, and porcelain cups containing medicine, and a small pile of antiseptic tablets.  For just an instant the man’s glance rested upon the tablets, and then swiftly swept the room.  It was untenanted except for the girl and the unconscious man on the bed.

“LeFroy, it seems, has improved his time,” ventured Lapierre as he accepted the proffered chair and drew from his pocket a thick packet of papers.  “His complete list of supplies,” he smiled.  “With these in your storehouse you may well expect to seriously menace the trade of both MacNair and the Hudson Bay Company’s post at Fort Rae.”

Chloe glanced at the list indifferently.  “It seems, Mr. Lapierre, that your mind is always upon trade—­when it is not upon the killing of men.”

The quarter-breed was quick to note the disapproval of her tone, and hastened to reply.  “Surely, Miss Elliston, you cannot believe that I regard the killing of men as a pleasure; it is a matter of deep regret to me that twice during the short period of our acquaintance I have been called upon to shoot a fellow man.”

“Only twice!  How about the shot in the night—­in the camp of the Indians, before you left for the Southward?” The sarcasm of the last four words was not lost upon the man.  “Who fired that shot?  And what was the thing that was lifted from your canoe and dropped into the river?”

Lapierre’s eyes searched hers.  Did she know the truth?  The chance was against it.

“A most deplorable affair—­a fight between Indians.  One was killed and we buried him in the river.  I had hoped to keep this from your ears.  Such incidents are all too common in the Northland——­”

“And the murderer——­”

“Has escaped.  But to return to the others.  Both shots, as you well know, were fired on the instant, and in neither case did I draw first.”

Chloe, who had been regarding him intently, was forced to admit the justice of his words.  She noted the serious sadness of the handsome features, the deep regret in his voice, and suddenly realized that in both instances Lapierre’s shots had been fired primarily in defence of her.