A MATING IN THE WILDS

BORZOI WESTERN STORIES

THE CROSS PULL
By Hal G. Evarts

THE LONG DIM TRAIL
By Forrestine Hooker

A MATING IN THE WILDS
By Ottwell Binns

A MATING IN THE WILDS

By

OTTWELL BINNS

NEW YORK      ALFRED A. KNOPF      1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

1. The Man from the River,7
2. An Attack at Midnight,18
3. A Lost Girl,31
4. A Piece of Wreckage,43
5. A Brave Rescue,56
6. A Mysterious Shot,68
7. Stranded,80
8. A Meeting in the Forest,95
9. Under the Greenwood Tree,105
10. A Canoe Comes and Goes,118
11. A Forest Fire,132
12. The Raft,146
13. A Lodge in the Wilderness,158
14. Mysterious Visitors,172
15. A Face at the Tent-Door,185
16. An Arrow Out of the Night,199
17. The Attack,212
18. A Dead Girl,225
19. A Hot Trail,238
20. A Prisoner,251
21. Chigmok's Story,264
22. Ainley's Story,278
23. A Surprise for Ainley,292
24. The Trail to Paradise,305

CHAPTER I

THE MAN FROM THE RIVER

The man in the canoe was lean and hardy, and wielded the paddle against the slow-moving current of the wide river with a dexterity that proclaimed long practice. His bronzed face was that of a quite young man, but his brown hair was interspersed with grey; and his blue eyes had a gravity incompatible with youth, as if already he had experience of the seriousness of life, and had eaten of its bitter fruits. He was in a gala dress of tanned deerskin, fringed and worked by native hands, the which had quite probably cost him more than the most elegant suit by a Bond Street tailor, and the effect was as picturesque as the heart of a young male could desire. To be in keeping with such gay attire he should have worn a smiling face, and sung some joyous chanson of the old voyageurs, but he neither sang nor smiled; paddling steadily on towards his destination.

This was a northern post of the Hudson Bay Company, built in the form of a hollow square with a wide frontage open to the river. The trading store, the warehouse, and the factor's residence with its trim garden, occupied the other three sides of the square, and along the river front was a small floating wharf. A tall flag-pole rose above the buildings, and the flag itself fluttered gaily in the summer breeze, taking the eye at once with its brave colouring.

The young man in the canoe noticed it whilst he was half a mile away, and for a moment, ceasing his paddling, he looked at it doubtfully, his brow puckering over his grave eyes. The canoe began to drift backward in the current, but he made no effort to check it, instead, he sat there staring at the distant flag, with a musing look upon his face, as if he were debating some question with himself. At last he spoke aloud, after the habit of men who dwell much alone.

"The steamer can't have come yet. It probably means