We stood there, grouped about the body of the deadGrabritin, looking futilely down the river to where it madean abrupt curve to the west, a quarter of a mile below us,and was lost to sight, as though we expected to see thetruant returning to us with our precious launch--the thingthat meant life or death to us in this unfriendly, savageworld.

I felt, rather than saw, Taylor turn his eyes slowly towardmy profile, and, as mine swung to meet them, the expressionupon his face recalled me to my duty and responsibility asan officer.

The utter hopelessness that was reflected in his face musthave been the counterpart of what I myself felt, but in thatbrief instant I determined to hide my own misgivings that Imight bolster up the courage of the others.

"We are lost!" was written as plainly upon Taylor's face asthough his features were the printed words upon an openbook. He was thinking of the launch, and of the launchalone. Was I? I tried to think that I was. But a greatergrief than the loss of the launch could have engendered inme, filled my heart--a sullen, gnawing misery which I triedto deny--which I refused to admit--but which persisted inobsessing me until my heart rose and filled my throat, and Icould not speak when I would have uttered words ofreassurance to my companions.

And then rage came to my relief--rage against the viletraitor who had deserted three of his fellow countrymen inso frightful a position. I tried to feel an equal rageagainst the woman, but somehow I could not, and keptsearching for excuses for her--her youth, her inexperience,her savagery.

My rising anger swept away my temporary helplessness. Ismiled, and told Taylor not to look so glum.

"We will follow them," I said, "and the chances are that weshall overtake them. They will not travel as rapidly asSnider probably hopes. He will be forced to halt for fueland for food, and the launch must follow the windings of theriver; we can take short cuts while they are traversing thedetour. I have my map--thank God! I always carry it upon myperson--and with that and the compass we will have anadvantage over them."

My words seemed to cheer them both, and they were forstarting off at once in pursuit. There was no reason why weshould delay, and we set forth down the river. As wetramped along, we discussed a question that was uppermost inthe mind of each--what we should do with Snider when we hadcaptured him, for with the action of pursuit had come theoptimistic conviction that we should succeed. As a matterof fact, we had to succeed. The very thought of remainingin this utter wilderness for the rest of our lives wasimpossible.

We arrived at nothing very definite in the matter ofSnider's punishment, since Taylor was for shooting him,Delcarte insisting that he should be hanged, while I,although fully conscious of the gravity of his offense,could not bring myself to give the death penalty.

I fell to wondering what charm Victory had found in such aman as Snider, and why I insisted upon finding excuses forher and trying to defend her indefensible act. She wasnothing to me. Aside from the natural gratitude I felt forher since she had saved my life, I owed her nothing. Shewas a half-naked little savage--I, a gentleman, and anofficer in the world's greatest navy. There could be noclose bonds of interest between us.

This line of reflection I discovered to be as distressing asthe former, but, though I tried to turn my mind to otherthings, it persisted in returning to the vision of an ovalface, sun-tanned; of smiling lips, revealing white and eventeeth; of brave eyes that harbored no shadow of guile; andof a tumbling mass of wavy hair that crowned the loveliestpicture on which my eyes had ever rested.

Every time this vision presented itself I felt myself turncold with rage and hate against Snider. I could forgive thelaunch, but if he had wronged her he should die--he shoulddie at my own hands; in this I was determined.

For two days we followed the river northward, cutting offwhere we could, but confined for the most part to the gametrails that paralleled the stream. One afternoon, we cutacross a narrow neck of land that saved us many miles, wherethe river wound to the west and back again.

Here we decided to halt, for we had had a hard day of it,and, if the truth were known, I think that we had all givenup hope of overtaking the launch other than by the merestaccident.

We had shot a deer just before our halt, and, as Taylor andDelcarte were preparing it, I walked down to the water tofill our canteens. I had just finished, and wasstraightening up, when something floating around a bendabove me caught my eye. For a moment I could not believethe testimony of my own senses. It was a boat.

I shouted to Delcarte and Taylor, who came running to myside.

"The launch!" cried Delcarte; and, indeed, it was thelaunch, floating down-river from above us. Where had itbeen? How had we passed it? And how were we to reach itnow, should Snider and the girl discover us?

"It's drifting," said Taylor. "I see no one in it."

I was stripping off my clothes, and Delcarte soon followedmy example. I told Taylor to remain on shore with theclothing and rifles. He might also serve us better there,since it would give him an opportunity to take a shot atSnider should the man discover us and show himself.

With powerful strokes we swam out in the path of theoncoming launch. Being a stronger swimmer than Delcarte, Isoon was far in the lead, reaching the center of the channeljust as the launch bore down upon me. It was driftingbroadside on. I seized the gunwale and raised myselfquickly, so that my chin topped the side. I expected a blowthe moment that I came within the view of the occupants, butno blow fell.

Snider lay upon his back in the bottom of the boat alone.Even before I had clambered in and stooped above him I knewthat he was dead. Without examining him further, I ranforward to the control board and pressed the startingbutton. To my relief, the mechanism responded--the launchwas uninjured. Coming about, I picked up Delcarte. He wasastounded at the sight that met his eyes, and immediatelyfell to examining Snider's body for signs of life or anexplanation of the manner in which he met his death.

The fellow had been dead for hours--he was cold and still.But Delcarte's search was not without results, for aboveSnider's heart was a wound, a slit about an inch in length--such a slit as a sharp knife would make, and in the deadfingers of one hand was clutched a strand of long brownhair--Victory's hair was brown.

They say that dead men tell no tales, but Snider told thestory of his end as clearly as though the dead lips hadparted and poured forth the truth. The beast had attackedthe girl, and she had defended her honor.

We buried Snider beside the Rhine, and no stone marks hislast resting place. Beasts do not require headstones.

Then we set out in the launch, turning her nose upstream.When I had told Delcarte and Taylor that I intendedsearching for the girl, neither had demurred.

"We had her wrong in our thoughts," said Delcarte, "and theleast that we can do in expiation is to find and rescueher."

We called her name aloud every few minutes as we motored upthe river, but, though we returned all the way to our formercamping place, we did not find her. I then decided toretrace our journey, letting Taylor handle the launch, whileDelcarte and I, upon opposite sides of the river, searchedfor some sign of the spot where Victory had landed.

We found nothing until we had reached a point a few milesabove the spot where I had first seen the launch driftingdown toward us, and there I discovered the remnants of arecent camp fire.

That Victory carried flint and steel I was aware, and thatit was she who built the fire I was positive. But which wayhad she gone since she stopped here?

Would she go on down the river, that she might thus bringherself nearer her own Grabritin, or would she have soughtto search for us upstream, where she had seen us last?

I had hailed Taylor, and sent him across the river to takein Delcarte, that the two might join me and discuss mydiscovery and our future plans.

While waiting for them, I stood looking out over the river,my back toward the woods that stretched away to the eastbehind me. Delcarte was just stepping into the launch uponthe opposite side of the stream, when, without the leastwarning, I was violently seized by both arms and about thewaist--three or four men were upon me at once; my rifle wassnatched from my hands and my revolver from my belt.

I struggled for an instant, but finding my efforts of noavail, I ceased them, and turned my head to have a look atmy assailants. At the same time several others of themwalked around in front of me, and, to my astonishment, Ifound myself looking upon uniformed soldiery, armed withrifles, revolvers, and sabers, but with faces as black ascoal.