He saw the convulsions of the water made by the two Indians, who were groping about below the surface.

Wabigoon came up again for breath, then Mukoki.

It seemed to him that an age had passed, and he felt no hope.

John Ball was dead! Not for a moment now did he doubt the identity of the mad hunter.

The strange, wistful light that had replaced the glare in the old man's eyes when he heard his own name called to him had spoken more than words.