Marie lived only twelve miles beyond. More than once Marie had gone with
him over the old trap line. She had helped him to plan the little log
cabin he had built for himself on the edge of the big swamp, hidden away
from all but themselves. It was she who had put the red paper curtains
over the windows, and who, one day, had written on the corner of one of
them: "My beloved Jan." He forgot O'Grady as he thought of Marie and
those old days of happiness and hope. It was Jackpine who recalled him at
last to what was happening. In amazement he saw that O'Grady and his
Chippewayan had ceased paddling. They passed a dozen yards abreast of
them. O'Grady's great arms and shoulders were glistening with
perspiration. His face was purplish. In his eyes and on his lips was the
old taunting sneer. He was panting like a wind-broken animal. As Jan
passed he uttered no word.
An eighth of a mile ahead was the point where the regular portage began,
but Jan swung around this into a shallow inlet from which his own secret
trail was cut. Not until he was ashore did he look back. O'Grady and his
Indian were paddling in a leisurely manner toward the head of the point.
For a moment it looked as though they had given up the race, and Jan's
heart leaped exultantly. O'Grady saw him and waved his hand. Then he
jumped out to his knees in the water and the Chippewayan followed him. He
shouted to Jan, and pointed down at the canoe.
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