CHAPTER XV

A ROUGH WOOING The hush of midnight had fallen upon the valley of the Blue River. Dan Cooper had closed his store, and for lack of other shelter, even the wildest of the little colony had shut themselves up in their own huts. All sound of voices or human movement had died away. There was only the deep, murmurous flow of the river, and the soft splashing of the tiny streamlets which leaped from the ravine on to its broad dark bosom, to break an utter and intense stillness. A soft white mist had stolen upwards from t…