[Frontispiece: "The next instant his arms were pinionedto his sides. "]

The Gun-Brand

By JAMES B. HENDRYX

AUTHOR OF

"The Promise" Etc. 

With Frontispiece in Colors

By CLYDE FORSYTHE

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers New York

published by arrangement with G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

COPYRIGHT, 1917

By

JAMES B. HENDRYX

Second Impression

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I THE CALL OF THE RAW II VERMILION SHOWS HIS HAND III PIERRE LAPIERRE IV CHLOE SECURES AN ALLY V PLANS AND SPECIFICATIONS VI BRUTE MACNAIR VII THE MASTER MIND VIII A SHOT IN THE NIGHT IX ON SNARE LAKE X AN INTERVIEW XI BACK ON THE YELLOW KNIFE XII A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT XIII LAPIERRE RETURNS FROM THE SOUTH XIV THE WHISKEY RUNNERS XV "ARREST THAT MAN!" XVI MACNAIR GOES TO JAIL XVII A FRAME-UP XVIII WHAT HAPPENED AT BROWN'S XIX THE LOUCHOUX GIRL XX ON THE TRAIL OF PIERRE LAPIERRE XXI LAPIERRE PAYS A VISIT XXII CHLOE WRITES A LETTER XXIII THE WOLF-CRY! XXIV THE BATTLE XXV THE GUN-BRAND

THE GUN-BRAND

CHAPTER I

THE CALL OF THE RAW

Seated upon a thick, burlap-covered bale of freight--a "piece, " in theparlance of the North--Chloe Elliston idly watched the loading of thescows. The operation was not new to her; a dozen times within themonth since the outfit had swung out from Athabasca Landing she hadwatched from the muddy bank while the half-breeds and Indians unloadedthe big scows, ran them light through whirling rock-ribbed rapids, carried the innumerable pieces of freight upon their shoulders acrossportages made all but impassable by scrub timber, oozy muskeg, and lowsand-mountains, loaded the scows again at the foot of the rapid andsteered them through devious and dangerous miles of swift-movingwhite-water, to the head of the next rapid. 

They are patient men--these water freighters of the far North. Formore than two centuries and a quarter they have sweated the wildernessfreight across these same portages. And they are sober men--whencivilization is behind them--far behind. 

Close beside Chloe Elliston, upon the same piece, Harriet Penny, ofvague age, and vaguer purpose, also watched the loading of the scows. Harriet Penny was Chloe Elliston's one concession to convention--excessbaggage, beyond the outposts, being a creature of fear. Upon anotherpiece, Big Lena, the gigantic Swedish Amazon who, in the capacity ofgeneral factotum, had accompanied Chloe Elliston over half the world, stared stolidly at the river. 

Having arrived at Athabasca Landing four days after the departure ofthe Hudson Bay Company's annual brigade, Chloe had engagedtransportation into the North in the scows of an independent. And, when he heard of this, the old factor at the post shook his headdubiously, but when the girl pressed him for the reason, he shruggedand remained silent. Only when the outfit was loaded did the old manwhisper one sentence:

"Beware o' Pierre Lapierre. "

Again Chloe questioned him, and again he remained silent. So, as thedays passed upon the river trail, the name of Pierre Lapierre was allbut forgotten in the menace of rapids and the monotony of portages. And now the last of the great rapids had been run--the rapid of theSlave--and the scows were almost loaded. 

Vermilion, the boss scowman, stood upon the running-board of theleading scow and directed the stowing of the freight. He was apicturesque figure--Vermilion. A squat, thick half-breed, with eyesset wide apart beneath a low forehead bound tightly around with ahandkerchief of flaming silk. 

A heavy-eyed Indian, moving ponderously up the rough plank with a piecebalanced upon his shoulders, missed his footing and fell with a loudsplash into the water. The Indian scrambled clumsily ashore, and thepiece was rescued, but not before a perfect torrent ofFrench-English-Indian profanity had poured from the lips of theever-versatile Vermilion. Harriet Penny shrank against the youngerwoman and shuddered. 

"Oh!" she gasped, "he's swearing!"

"No!" exclaimed Chloe, in feigned surprise. "Why, I believe he is!"

Miss Penny flushed. "But, it is terrible! Just listen!"

"For Heaven's sake, Hat! If you don't like it, why do you listen?"

"But he ought to be stopped. I am sure the poor Indian did not _try_to fall in the river. "

Chloe made a gesture of impatience. "Very well, Hat; just look up theordinance against swearing on Slave River, and report him to Ottawa. "

"But I'm afraid! He--the Hudson Bay Company's man--told us not tocome. "

Chloe straightened up with a jerk. "See here, Hat Penny! Stop yoursnivelling! What do you expect from rivermen? Haven't the sevenhundred miles of water trail taught you _anything_? And, as for beingafraid--I don't care _who_ told us not to come! I'm an Elliston, andI'll go whereever I want to go! This isn't a pleasure trip. I came uphere for a purpose. Do you think I'm going to be scared out by thefirst old man that wags his head and shrugs his shoulders? Or by anyother man! Or by any swearing that I can't understand, or any that Ican, either, for that matter! Come on, they're waiting for this bale. "

Chloe Elliston's presence in the far outlands was the culmination of anideal, spurred by dissuasion and antagonism into a determination, anddeveloped by longing into an obsession. Since infancy the girl hadbeen left much to her own devices. Environment, and the prescribedcourse at an expensive school, should have made her pretty much whatother girls are, and an able satellite to her mother, who managed toremain one of the busiest women of the Western metropolis--doingabsolutely nothing--but, doing it with _éclat_. 

The girl's father, Blair Elliston, from his desk in a luxurious officesuite, presided over the destiny of the Elliston fleet of yellow-stacktramps that poked their noses into queer ports and put to sea withqueer cargoes--cargoes that smelled sweet and spicy, with the spice ofthe far South Seas. Office sailor though he was, Blair Ellistoncommanded the respect of even the roughest of his polyglot crews--arespect not wholly uncommingled with fear. 

For this man was the son of old "Tiger" Elliston, founder of the fleet. The man who, shoulder to shoulder with Brooke, the elder, put the fearof God in the hearts of the pirates, and swept wide trade-lanes amongthe islands of terror-infested Malaysia. And through Chloe Elliston'sveins coursed the blood of her world-roving ancestor. Her mosttreasured possession was a blackened and scarred oil portrait of theold sea-trader and adventurer, which always lay swathed in manywrappings in the bottom of her favourite trunk. 

In her heart she loved and admired this grandfather, with a love andadmiration that bordered upon idolatry. She loved the lean, hardfeatures, and the cold, rapier-blade eyes. She loved the name mencalled him; Tiger Elliston, an earned name--that. The name of a manwho, by his might and the strength and mastery of him, had won hisplace in the world of the men who dare. 

Since babyhood she had listened with awe to tales of him; and thered-letter days of her childhood's calendar were the days upon whichher father would take her down to the docks, past great windowlesswarehouses of concrete and sheet-iron, where big glossy horses stoodharnessed to high-piled trucks--past great tiers of bales and boxesbetween which trotted hurrying, sweating men--past the clang and clashof iron truck wheels, the rattle of chains, the shriek of pulleys, andthe loud-bawled orders in strange tongues. Until, at last, they wouldcome to the great dingy hulk of the ship and walk up the gangway andonto the deck, where funny yellow and brown men, with their hairbraided into curious pigtails, worked with ropes and tackles and calledto other funny men with bright-coloured ribbons braided into theirbeards. 

Almost as she learned to walk she learned to pick out the yellow stacksof "papa's boats, " learned their names, and the names of theircaptains, the bronzed, bearded men who would take her in their laps, holding her very awkwardly and very, very carefully, as if she weresomething that would break, and tell her stories in deep, rumblyvoices. And nearly always they were stories of the Tiger--"yergran'pap, leetle missey, " they would say. And then, by palms, andpearls, and the fires of blazing mountains, they would swear "He wor aman!"

To the helpless horror of her mother, the genuine wonder of her manyfriends, and the ill-veiled amusement and approval of her father, amonth after the doors of her _alma mater_ closed behind her, she tookpassage on the _Cora Blair_, the oldest and most disreputable-lookingyellow stack of them all, and hied her for a year's sojourn among thespicy lotus-ports of the dreamy Southern Ocean--there to hear at firsthand from the men who knew him, further deeds of Tiger Elliston. 

To her, on board the battered tramp, came gladly the men of power--themen whose spoken word in their polyglot domains was more feared andheeded than decrees of emperors or edicts of kings. And there, in thetime-blackened cabin that had once been _his_ cabin, these men talkedand the girl listened while her eyes glowed with pride as theyrecounted the exploits of Tiger Elliston. And, as they talked, thehearts of these men warmed, and the years rolled backward, and theyswore weird oaths, and hammered the thick planks of the chart-tablewith bangs of approving fists, and invoked the blessings of strangegods upon the soul of the Tiger--and their curses upon the souls of hisenemies. 

Nor were these men slow to return hospitality, and Chloe Elliston wasentertained royally in halls of lavish splendour, and plied with costlygifts and rare. And honoured by the men, and the sons and daughters ofmen who had fought side by side with the Tiger in the days when theyellow sands ran red, and tall masts and white sails rose like cloudsfrom the blue fog of the cannon-crashing powder-smoke. 

So, from the lips of governors and potentates, native princes andrajahs, the girl learned of the deeds of her grandsire, and in theireyes she read approval, and respect, and reverence even greater thanher own--for these were the men who knew him. But, not alone from themighty did she learn. For, over rice-cakes and _poi_, in the thatchedhovels of Malays, Kayans, and savage Dyaks, she heard the tale from thelips of the vanquished men--men who still hated, yet always respected, the reddened sword of the Tiger. 

The year Chloe Elliston spent among the copra-ports of the South Seaswas the shaping year of her destiny. Never again were the standards ofher compeers to be her standards--never again the measure of the worldof convention to be her measure. For, in her heart the awakened spiritof Tiger Elliston burned and seared like a living flame, calling forother wilds to conquer, other savages to subdue--to crush down, if needbe, that it might build up into the very civilization of which theunconquerable spirit is the forerunner, yet which, in realization, palls and deadens it to extinction. 

For social triumphs the girl cared nothing. The heart of her felt theirresistible call of the raw. She returned to the land of her birthand deliberately, determinedly, in the face of opposition, ridicule, advice, and command--as Tiger Elliston, himself, would have done--shecast about until she found the raw, upon the rim of the Arctic. And, with the avowed purpose of carrying education and civilization to theIndians of the far North, turned her back upon the world-fashionable, and without fanfare or trumpetry, headed into the land of primal things. 

When the three women had taken their places in the head scow, Vermiliongave the order to shove off, and with the swarthy crew straining at therude sweeps, the heavy scows threaded their way into the North. 

Once through the swift water at the tail of Slave Rapids, the fourscows drifted lazily down the river. The scowmen distributedthemselves among the pieces in more or less comfortable attitudes andslept. In the head scow only the boss and the three women remainedawake. 

"Who is Pierre Lapierre?" Chloe asked suddenly. 

The man darted her a searching glance and shrugged. "Pierre Lapierre, she free-trader, " he answered. "Dees scow, she Pierre Lapierre scow. "

If Chloe was surprised at this bit of information, she succeededadmirably in disguising her feelings. Not so Harriet Penny, who sankback among the freight pieces to stare fearfully into the face of theyounger woman. 

"Then you are Pierre Lapierre's man? You work for him?"

The man nodded. "On de reevaire I'm run de scow--me--Vermilion! I'mtak' de reesk. Lapierre, she tak' de money. " The man's eyes glintedwickedly. 

"Risk? What risk?" asked the girl. 

Again the man eyed her shrewdly and laughed. "Das plent' reesk--on dereevaire. De scow--me'be so, she heet de rock in de rapids--bre'k allto hell--_Voilà_!" Somehow the words did not ring true. 

"You hate Lapierre!" The words flashed swift, taking the man bysurprise. 

"_Non_! _Non_!" he cried, and Chloe noticed that his glance flashedswiftly over the sprawling forms of the five sleeping scowmen. 

"And you are afraid of him, " the girl added before he could frame areply. 

A sudden gleam of anger leaped into the eyes of the half-breed. Heseemed on the point of speaking, but with an unintelligible mutteredimprecation he relapsed into sullen silence. Chloe had purposelybaited the man, hoping in his anger he would blurt out some bit ofinformation concerning the mysterious Pierre Lapierre. Instead, theman crouched silent, scowling, with his gaze fixed upon the forms ofthe scowmen. 

Had the girl been more familiar with the French half-breeds of theoutlands she would have been suspicious of the man's sudden taciturnityunder stress of anger--suspicious, also, of the gradual shifting thathad been going on for days among the crews of the scows. A shiftingthat indicated Vermilion was selecting the crew of his own scow with aneye to a purpose--a purpose that had not altogether to do with thescow's safe conduct through white-water. But Chloe had taken no noteof the personnel of the scowmen, nor of the fact that the freight ofthe head scow consisted only of pieces that obviously containedprovisions, together with her own tent and sleeping outfit, and severalburlapped pieces marked with the name "MacNair. " Idly she wondered whoMacNair was, but refrained from asking. 

The long-gathering twilight deepened as the scows floated northward. Vermilion's face lost its scowl, and he smoked in silence--a sinisterfigure, thought the girl, as he crouched in the bow, his dark featuresset off to advantage by his flaming head-band. 

Into the stillness crept a sound--the far-off roar of a rapid. Sullen, and dull, it scarce broke the monotony of the silence--low, yet everincreasing in volume. 

"Another portage?" wearily asked the girl. 

Vermilion shook his head. "_Non_, eet ees de Chute. Ten miles of dewild, fast wataire, but safe--eef you know de way. Me--Vermilion--I'mtak' de scow t'rough a hondre tam--_bien_!"

"But, you can't make it in the dark!"

Vermilion laughed. "We mak' de camp to-night. To-mor', we run deChute. " He reached for the light pole with which he indicated thechannel to the steersman, and beat sharply upon the running-board thatformed the gunwale of the scow. Sleepily the five sprawling formsstirred, and awoke to consciousness. Vermilion spoke a guttural jargonof words and the men fumbled the rude sweeps against the tholes. Theother three scows drifted lazily in the rear and, standing upon therunning-board, Vermilion roared his orders. Figures in the scowsstirred, and sweeps thudded against thole-pins. The roar of the Chutewas loud, now--hoarse, and portentous of evil. 

The high banks on either side of the river drew closer together, thespeed of the drifting scows increased, and upon the dark surface of thewater tiny whirlpools appeared. Vermilion raised the pole above hishead and pointed toward a narrow strip of beach that showed dimly atthe foot of the high bank, at a point only a few hundred yards abovethe dark gap where the river plunged between the upstanding rocks ofthe Chute. 

Looking backward, Chloe watched the three scows with their swarthycrews straining at the great sweeps. Here was action--life! Primitiveman battling against the unbending forces of an iron wilderness. Thered blood leaped through the girl's veins as she realized that thislife was to be her life--this wilderness to be her wilderness. Hers tobring under the book, and its primitive children, hers--to govern by arule of thumb!

Suddenly she noticed that the following scows were much nearer shorethan her own, and also, that they were being rapidly out-distanced. She glanced quickly toward shore. The scow was opposite the strip ofbeach toward which the others were slowly but surely drawing. The scowseemed motionless, as upon the surface of a mill-pond, but the beach, and the high bank beyond, raced past to disappear in the deepeninggloom. The figures in the following scows--the scowsthemselves--blurred into the shore-line. The beach was gone. Rocksappeared, jagged, and high--close upon either hand. 

In a sudden panic, Chloe glanced wildly toward Vermilion, who crouchedin the bow, pole in hand, and with set face, stared into the gloomahead. Swiftly her glance travelled over the crew--their faces, also, were set, and they stood at the sweeps, motionless, but with their eyesfixed upon the pole of the pilot. Beyond Vermilion, in the forefront, appeared wave after wave of wildly tossing water. For just an instantthe scow hesitated, trembled through its length, and with the leapingwaves battering against its bottom and sides, plunged straight into themaw of the Chute!

CHAPTER II

VERMILION SHOWS HIS HAND

Down, down through the Chute raced the heavily loaded scow, seemingfairly to leap from wave to wave in a series of tremendous shocks, asthe flat bottom rose high in the fore and crashed onto the crest of thenext wave, sending a spume of stinging spray high into the air. White-water curled over the gunwale and sloshed about in the bottom. The air was chill, and wet--like the dead air of a rock-cavern. 

Chloe Elliston knew one moment of swift fear. And then, the mightyroar of the waters; the mad plunging of the scow between the toweringwalls of rock; the set, tense face of Vermilion as he stared into thegloom; the laboured breathing of the scowmen as they strained at thesweeps, veering the scow to the right, or to the left, as the rod ofthe pilot indicated; the splendid battle of it; the wild exhilarationof fighting death on death's own stamping ground flung all thought offear aside, and in the girl's heart surged the wild, fierce joy ofliving, with life itself at stake. 

For just an instant Chloe's glance rested upon her companions; Big Lenasat scowling murderously at Vermilion's broad back. Harriet Penny hadfainted and lay with the back of her head awash in the shallow bilgewater. A strange _alter ego_--elemental--primordial--had takenpossession of Chloe. Her eyes glowed, and her heart thrilled at thesight of the tense, vigilant figure of Vermilion, and the sweating, straining scowmen. For the helpless form of Harriet Penny she feltonly contempt--the savage, intolerant contempt of the strong for theweak among firstlings. 

The intoxication of a new existence was upon her, or, better, aworld-old existence--an existence that was new when the world was new. In that moment, she was a throw-back of a million years, and throughher veins fumed the ferine blood of her paleolithic forebears. What islife but proof of the fitness to live? Death, but defeat. 

On rushed the scow, leaping, crashing from wave to wave, into theNorthern night. And, as it rushed and leaped and crashed, it bore twowomen, their garments touching, but between whom interposed a wholeworld of creeds and fabrics. 

Suddenly, Chloe sensed a change. The scow no longer leaped andcrashed, and the roar of the rapids grew faint. No longer the form ofVermilion appeared couchant, tense; and, among the scowmen, onelaughed. Chloe drew a deep breath, and a slight shudder shook herframe. She glanced about her in bewilderment, and, reaching swiftlydown, raised the inert form of Harriet Penny and rested it gentlyagainst her knees. 

The darkness of night had settled upon the river. Stars twinkledoverhead. The high, scrub-timbered shore loomed formless and black, and the flat bottom of the scow rasped harshly on gravel. Vermilionleaped ashore, followed by the scowmen, and Chloe assisted Big Lenawith the still unconscious form of Harriet Penny. As if by magic, fires flared out upon the shingle, and in an incredibly short time thegirl found herself seated upon her bed-roll inside her mosquito-barredtent of balloon silk. The older woman had revived and lay, a dejectedheap, upon her blankets, and out in front Big Lena was stooping over afire. Beyond, upon the gravel, the fires of the scowmen flamed red, and threw wavering reflections upon the black water of the river. 

Chloe was seized with a strange unrest. The sight of Harriet Pennyirritated her. She stepped from the tent and filled her lungs withgreat drafts of the spruce-laden night-breeze that wafted gently out ofthe mysterious dark, and rippled the surface of the river until littlewaves slapped softly against the shore in tiny whisperings of theunknown--whisperings that called, and were understood by the newawakened self within her. 

She glanced toward the fires of the rivermen where the dark-skinned, long-haired sons of the wild squatted close about the flames over whichpots boiled, grease fried, and chunks of red meat browned upon the endsof long toasting-sticks. The girl's heart leaped with the wild freedomof it. A sense of might and of power surged through her veins. Thesemen were her men--hers to command. Savages and half-savages whose workit was to do her bidding--and who performed their work well. The nightwas calling her--the vague, portentous night of the land beyondoutposts. Slowly she passed the fires, and on along the margin of theriver whose waters, black and forbidding, reached into the North. 

"The unconquered North, " she breathed, as she stood upon a water-lappedboulder and gazed into the impenetrable dark. And, as she gazed, before her mind's eye rose a vision. The scattered teepees of theNorthland, smoke-blackened, filthy, stinking with the reek ofill-tanned skins, resolved themselves into a village beside a broad, smooth-flowing river. 

The teepees faded, and in their place appeared rows of substantial logcabins, each with its door-yard of neatly trimmed grass, and its bedsof gay flowers. Broad streets separated the rows. The white spire ofa church loomed proudly at the end of a street. From the doorwaysdark, full-bodied women smiled happily--their faces clean, and theirlong, black hair caught back with artistic bands of quill embroidery, as they called to the clean brown children who played light-heartedlyin the grassed dooryards. Tall, lean-shouldered men, whose swarthyfaces glowed with the love of their labour, toiled gladly in fields ofyellow grain, or sang and called to one another in the forest where thering of their axes was drowned in the crash of falling trees. 

Her vision of the North--the conquered North--her North!

As Sir James Brooke and Tiger Elliston overthrew barbarism andestablished in its place an island empire of civilization, so would shesupersede savagery with culture. But, her empire of the North shouldbe an empire founded not upon blood, but upon humanity and brotherlylove. 

The girl started nervously. Her brain-picture resolved into theformless dark. From the black waters, almost at her feet, sounded, raucous and loud, the voice of the great loon. Frenzied, maniacal, hideous, rang the night-shattering laughter. The uncouth mockery ofthe raw--the defiance of the unconquerable North!

With a shudder, Chloe turned and fled toward the red-flaring fires. Inthat moment a feeling of defeat surged over her--of heart-sickeninghopelessness. The figures at the fires were unkempt, dirty, revolting, as they gouged and tore at the half-cooked meat into which their yellowfangs drove deep, as the red blood squirted and trickled from thecorners of their mouths to drip unheeded upon the sweat-stiffenedcotton of their shirts. Savages! And she, Chloe Elliston, at the verygateway of her empire, fled incontinently to the protection of theirfires!

Wide awake upon her blankets, in the smudge-pungent tent where her twocompanions slept heavily, Chloe sat late into the night staring throughthe mosquito-barred entrance toward the narrow strip of beach where thedying fires of the scowmen glowed sullenly in the darkness, pierced nowand again by the fitful flare of a wind-whipped brand. Two still formswrapped in ragged blankets, lay like logs where sleep had overcome them. 

A short distance removed from the others, the fire of Vermilion burnedbrightly. Between this fire and a heavily smoking smudge, four menplayed cards upon a blanket spread upon the ground. Silently, save foran occasional grunt or mumbled word, they played--dealing, tossing intothe centre the amount of their bets, leaning forward to rake in a pot, or throwing down their cards in disgust, to await the next deal. 

The scene was intrinsically savage. At the end of the day's work, primitive man followed primitive instinct. Gorged to repletion, theyslept, or wasted their substance with the improvidence ofjungle-beasts. And these were the men Chloe Elliston had picturedlabouring joyously in the upbuilding of homes! Once more the feelingof hopelessness came over her--seemed smothering, stifling her. And agreat wave of longing carried her back to the land of her ownpeople--the land of convention and sophistry. 

Could it be that they were right? They who had scoffed, and ridiculed, and forbade her? What could _she_ do in the refashioning of aworld-old wild--one woman against the established creeds of an ironwilderness? Where, now, were her dreams of empire, her ideals, and hercastles in Spain? Was she to return, broken on the wheel? Crushedbetween the adamantine millstones of things as they ought not to be?

The resolute lips drooped, a hot salt tear blurred Vermilion'scamp-fire and distorted the figures of the gambling scowmen. Sheclosed her eyes tightly. The writhing green shadow-shapes lost form, dimmed, and resolved themselves into an image--a lean, lined face withrapier-blade eyes gazed upon her from the blackness--the face of TigerElliston!

Instantly, the full force and determination of her surged through thegirl's veins anew. The drooping lips stiffened. Her heart sang withthe joy of conquest. The tight-pressed lids flew open, and for a longtime she watched the shadow-dance of the flames on her tent wall. Dim, and elusive, and far away faded the dancing shadow-shapes--and sheslept. 

Not so Vermilion, who, when his companions tired of their game andsought their blankets, sat and stared into the embers of his dyingfire. The half-breed was troubled. As boss of Pierre Lapierre'sscowmen, a tool of a master mind, a unit of a system, he had prospered. But, no longer was he a unit of a system. From the moment ChloeElliston had bargained with him for the transportation of her outfitinto the wilderness, the man's brain had been active in formulating aplan. 

This woman was rich. One who is not rich cannot afford to transportthirty-odd tons of outfit into the heart of the wilderness, at thetariff of fifteen cents the pound. So, throughout the days of thejourney, the man gazed with avarice upon the piles of burlapped pieces, while his brain devised the scheme. Thereafter, in the dead of nightoccurred many whispered consultations, as Vermilion won over his men. He chose shrewdly, for these men knew Pierre Lapierre, and well theyknew what portion would be theirs should the scheme of Vermilionmiscarry. 

At last, the selection had been made, and five of the most desperateand daring of all the rivermen had, by the lure of much gold, consentedto cast loose from the system and "go it alone. " The first daring movein the undertaking had succeeded--a move that, in itself, bespoke thedesperate character of its perpetrators, for it was no accident thatsent the head scow plunging down through the Chute in the darkness. 

But, in the breast of Vermilion, as he sat alone beside his camp-fire, was no sense of elation--and in the heart of him was a great fear. For, despite the utmost secrecy among the conspirators, the half-breedknew that even at that moment, somewhere to the northward, PierreLapierre had learned of his plot. 

Eight days had elapsed since the mysterious disappearance ofChenoine--and Chenoine, it was whispered, was half-brother to PierreLapierre. Therefore, Vermilion crouched beside his camp-fire andcursed the slowness of the coming of the day. For well he knew thatwhen a man double-crossed Pierre Lapierre, he must get away with it--ordie. Many had died. The black eyes flashed dangerously. He--Vermilion--would get away with it! He glanced toward the sleepingforms of the five scowmen and shuddered. He, Vermilion, knew that hewas afraid to sleep!

For an instant he thought of abandoning the plan. It was not too late. The other scows could be run through in the morning, and, if PierreLapierre came, would it not be plain that Chenoine had lied? But, evenwith the thought, the avaricious gleam leaped into the man's eyes, andwith a muttered imprecation, he greeted the first faint light of dawn. 

Chloe Elliston opened her eyes sleepily in answer to a gruff call fromwithout her tent. A few minutes later she stepped out into the grey ofthe morning, followed by her two companions. Vermilion was waiting forher as he watched the scowmen breaking open the freight pieces andmaking up hurried trail-packs of provisions. 

"Tam to mush!" sad the man tersely. 

"But where are the other scows?" asked Chloe, glancing toward the bankwhere the scow was being rapidly unloaded. "And what is the meaning ofthis? Here, you!" she cried, as a half-breed ripped the burlap from abale. "Stop that! That's mine!" By her side, Vermilion laughed, ashort, harsh laugh, and the girl turned. 

"De scow, she not com'. We leave de rivaire. We tak' 'long de grub, eh?" The man's tone was truculent--insulting. 

Chloe flushed with anger. "I am not going to leave the river! Whyshould I leave the river?"

Again the man laughed; there was no need for concealment now. "Me, Vermilion, I'm know de good plac' back in de hills. We go for staydere till you pay de money. "

"Money? What money?"

"Un hondre t'ousan' dollaire--cash! You pay, Vermilion--he tak' youback. You no pay--" The man shrugged significantly. 

The girl stared, dumbfounded. "What do you mean? One hundred thousanddollars! Are you crazy?"

The man stepped close, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "You reech. Youpay un hondre t'ousan' dollaire, or, ba gar, you nevaire com' out debush!"

Chloe laughed in derision. "Oh! I am kidnapped! Is that it? Howromantic!" The man scowled. "Don't be a fool, Vermilion! Do yousuppose I came into this country with a hundred thousand dollars incash--or even a tenth of that amount?"

The man shrugged indifferently. "_Non_, but you mak' de write on depapaire, an' Menard, he tak' heem to de bank--Edmonton--Preence Albert. He git de money. By-m-by, two mont', me'be, he com' back. Den, Vermilion, he tak' you close to de H. B. Post--_bien_! You kin go hom', an' Vermilion, he go ver' far away. "

Chloe suddenly realized that the man was in earnest. Her eyes flashedover the swarthy, villainous faces of the scowmen, and the seriousnessof the situation dawned upon her. She knew, now, that the separatingof the scows was the first move in a deep-laid scheme. Her brainworked rapidly. It was evident that the men on the other scows werenot party to the plot, or Vermilion would not have risked running theChute in the darkness. She glanced up the river. Would the otherscows come on? It was her one hope. She must play for time. HarrietPenny sobbed aloud, and Big Lena glowered. Again Chloe laughed intothe scowling face of the half-breed. "What about the Mounted? Whenthey find I am missing there will be an investigation. "

For answer, Vermilion pointed toward the river-bank, where the men wereworking with long poles in the overturning of the scow. "We shove heemout in de rivaire. Wen dey fin', dey t'ink she mak' for teep ovaire inde Chute. _Voilà_! Dey say: 'Een de dark she run on derock'--_pouf_!" he signified eloquently the instantaneous snuffing outof lives. Even as he spoke the scow overturned with a splash, and thescowmen pushed it out into the river, where it floated bottom upward, turning lazily in the grip of an eddy. The girl's heart sank as hereyes rested upon the overturned scow. Vermilion had plotted cunningly. He drew closer now--leering horribly. 

"You mak' write on de papaire--_non_?"

A swift anger surged in the girl's heart. "No!" she cried. "I willnot write! I have no such amount in any bank this side of SanFrancisco! But if I had a million dollars, you would not get a cent!You can't bluff me!"

Vermilion sprang toward her with a snarl; but before he could lay handsupon her Big Lena, with a roar of rage, leaped past the girl and drovea heavy stick of firewood straight at the half-breed's head. The manducked swiftly, and the billet thudded against his shoulder, staggeringhim. Instantly two of the scowmen threw themselves upon the woman andbore her to the ground, where she fought, tooth and nail, while theypinioned her arms. Vermilion, his face livid, seized Chloe roughly. The girl shrank in terror from the grip of the thick, grimy fingers andthe glare of the envenomed eyes that blazed from the distorted, brutishfeatures. 

"Stand back!"

The command came sharp and quick in a low, hard voice--the voice ofauthority. Vermilion whirled with a snarl. Uttering a loud cry offear, one of the scowmen dashed into the bush, closely followed by twoof his companions. Two men advanced swiftly and noiselessly from thecover of the scrub. Like a flash, the half-breed jerked a revolverfrom his belt and fired. Chenoine fell dead. Before Vermilion couldfire again the other man, with the slightest perceptible movement ofhis right hand, fired from the hip. The revolver dropped from thehalf-breed's hand. He swayed unsteadily for a few seconds, his eyeswidening into a foolish, surprised stare. He half-turned and openedhis lips to speak. Pink foam reddened the corners of his mouth andspattered in tiny drops upon his chin. He gasped for breath with aspasmodic heave of the shoulders. A wheezing, gurgling sound issuedfrom his throat, and a torrent of blood burst from his lips andsplashed upon the ground. With eyes wildly rolling, he clutchedfrantically at the breast of his cotton shirt and pitched heavily intothe smouldering ashes of the fire at the feet of the stranger. 

But few seconds had elapsed since Chloe felt the hand of Vermilionclose about her wrist--tense, frenzied seconds, to the mind of thegirl, who gazed in bewilderment upon the bodies of the two dead menwhich lay almost touching each other. 

The man who had ordered Vermilion to release her, and who had fired theshot that had killed him, stood calmly watching four lithe-bodiedcanoemen securely bind the arms of the two scowmen who had attacked BigLena. 

So sudden had been the transition from terror to relief in her heartthat the scene held nothing of repugnance to the girl, who wasconscious only of a feeling of peace and security. She even smiledinto the eyes of her deliverer, who had turned his attention from hiscanoemen and stood before her, his soft-brimmed Stetson in his hand. 

"Oh! I--I thank you!" exclaimed the girl, at a loss for words. 

The man bowed low. "It is nothing. I am glad to have been of someslight service. " Something in the tone of the well-modulated voice, the correct speech, the courtly manner, thrilled the girl strangely. It was all so unexpected--so out of place, here in the wild. She feltthe warm colour mount to her face. 

"Who are you?" she asked abruptly. 

"I am Pierre Lapierre, " answered the man in the same low voice. 

In spite of herself, Chloe started slightly, and instantly she knewthat the man had noticed. He smiled, with just an appreciabletightening at the corners of the mouth, and his eyes narrowed almostimperceptibly. He continued:

"And now, Miss Elliston, if you will retire to your tent for a fewmoments, I will have these removed. " He indicated the bodies. "Yousee, I know your name. The good Chenoine told me. He it was whowarned me of Vermilion's plot in time for me to frustrate it. Ofcourse, I should have rescued you later. I hold myself responsible forthe safe conduct of all who travel in my scows. But it would have beenat the expense of much time and labour, and, very possibly, of humanlife as well--an incident regrettable always, but not always avoidable. "

Chloe nodded, and, with her thoughts in a whirl of confusion, turnedand entered her tent, where Harriet Penny lay sobbing hysterically, with her blankets drawn over her head. 

CHAPTER III

PIERRE LAPIERRE

A half-hour later, when Chloe again ventured from the tent, allevidence of the struggle had disappeared. The bodies of the two deadmen had been removed, and the canoemen were busily engaged in gatheringtogether and restoring the freight pieces that had been ripped open bythe scowmen. 

Lapierre advanced to meet her, his carefully creased Stetson in hand. 

"I have sent word for the other scows to come on at once, and in themeantime, while my men attend to the freight, may we not talk?"

Chloe assented, and the two seated themselves upon a log. It was then, for the first time that the girl noticed that one side of Lapierre'sface--the side he had managed to keep turned from her--was battered anddisfigured by some recent misadventure. Noticed, too, the really finefeatures of him--the dark, deep-set eyes that seemed to smoulder intheir depths, the thin, aquiline nose, the shapely lips, the clean-cutlines of cheek and jaw. 

"You have been hurt!" she cried. "You have met with an accident!"

The man smiled, a smile in which cynicism blended with amusement. 

"Hardly an accident, I think, Miss Elliston, and, in any event, ofsmall consequence. " He shrugged a dismissal of the subject, and hisvoice assumed a light gaiety of tone. 

"May we not become better acquainted, we two, who meet in this farplace, where travellers are few and worth the knowing?" There was nocynicism in his smile now, and without waiting for a reply hecontinued: "My name you already know. I have only to add that I am anadventurer in the wilds--explorer of _hinterlands_, free-trader, freighter, sometime prospector--casual cavalier. " He rose, swept theStetson from his head, and bowed with mock solemnity. 

"And now, fair lady, may I presume to inquire your mission in this landof magnificent wastes?" Chloe's laughter was genuine as it wasspontaneous. 

Lapierre's light banter acted as a tonic to the girl's nerves, harassedas they were by a month's travel through the fly-bitten wilderness. More--he interested her. He was different. As different from thehalf-breeds and Indian canoemen with whom she had been thrown as hisspeech was from the throaty guttural by means of which they exchangedtheir primitive ideas. 

"Pray pause, Sir Cavalier, " she smiled, falling easily into the gaietyof the man's mood. "I have ventured into your wilderness upon a mostunpoetic mission. Merely the establishment of a school for theeducation and betterment of the Indians of the North. "

A moment of silence followed the girl's words--a moment in which shewas sure a hard, hostile gleam leaped into the man's eyes. A trick offancy doubtless, she thought, for the next instant it had vanished. When he spoke, his air of light raillery was gone, but his lipssmiled--a smile that seemed to the girl a trifle forced. 

"Ah, yes, Miss Elliston. May I ask at whose instigation this school isto be established--and where?" He was not looking at her now, his eyessought the river, and his face showed only a rather finely mouldedchin, smooth-shaven--and the lips, with their smile that almost sneered. 

Instantly Chloe felt that a barrier had sprung up between herself andthis mysterious stranger who had appeared so opportunely out of theNorthern bush. Who was he? What was the meaning of the old factor'swhispered warning? And why should the mention of her school awakedisapproval, or arouse his antagonism? Vaguely she realized that thesudden change in this man's attitude hurt. The displeasure, andopposition, and ridicule of her own people, and the surly indifferenceof the rivermen, she had overridden or ignored. This man she could notignore. Like herself, he was an adventurer of untrodden ways. A manof fancy, of education and light-hearted raillery, and yet, a strongman, withal--a man of moment, evidently. 

She remembered the sharp, quick words of authority--the words thatcaused the villainous Vermilion to whirl with a snarl of fear. Remembered also, the swift sure shot that had ended Vermilion's career, his absolute mastery of the situation, his lack of excitement orbraggadocio, and the expressed regret over the necessity for killingthe man. Remembered the abject terror in the eyes of those who fledinto the bush at his appearance, and the servility of the canoemen. 

As she glanced into the half-turned face of the man, Chloe saw that thesneering smile had faded from the thin lips as he waited her answer. 

"At _my own_ instigation. " There was an underlying hardness ofdefiance in her words, and the firm, sun-reddened chin unconsciouslythrust forward beneath the encircling mosquito net. She paused, butthe man, expressionless, continued to gaze out over the surface of theriver. 

"I do not know exactly _where_, " she continued, "but it will be_somewhere_. Wherever it will do the most good. Upon the bank of someriver, or lake, perhaps, where the people of the wilderness may comeand receive that which is theirs of right----"

"Theirs of right?" The man looked into her face, and Chloe saw that thethin lips again smiled--this time with a quizzical smile that hinted attolerant amusement. The smile stung. 

"Yes, theirs of right!" she flashed. "The education that was freelyoffered to me, and to you--and of which we availed ourselves. "

For a long time the man continued to gaze in silence, and, when atlength he spoke, it was to ask an entirely irrelevant question. 

"Miss Elliston, you have heard my name before?"

The question came as a surprise, and for a moment Chloe hesitated. Then frankly, and looking straight into his eyes she answered:

"Yes, I have. "

The man nodded, "I knew you had. " He turned his injured eye quicklyfrom the dazzle of the sunlight that flashed from the surface of theriver, and Chloe saw that it was discoloured and bloodshot. She arose, and stepping to his side laid her hand upon his arm. 

"You _are_ hurt, " she said earnestly, "your eye gives you pain. "

Beneath her fingers the girl felt the play of strong muscles as the armpressed against her hand. Their eyes met, and her heart quickened witha strange new thrill. Hastily she averted her glance and then---- Theman's arm suddenly was withdrawn and Chloe saw that his fist hadclinched. With a rush the words brought back to him the scene in thetrading-room of the post at Fort Rae. The low, log-room, piled highwith the goods of barter. The great cannon stove. The two groups ofdark-visaged Indians--his own Chippewayans, and MacNair's YellowKnives, who stared in stolid indifference. The trembling, excitedclerk. The grim chief trader, and the stern-faced factor who watchedwith approving eyes while two men fought in the wide cleared spacebetween the rough counter and the high-piled bales of woollens andstrouds. 

Chloe Elliston drew back aghast. The thin lips of the man had twistedinto a snarl of rage, and a living, bestial hate seemed fairly to blazefrom the smouldering eyes, as Lapierre's thoughts dwelt upon theclosing moments of that fight, when he felt himself giving groundbefore the hammering, smashing blows of Bob MacNair's big fists. Feltthe tightening of the huge arms like steel bands about his body when herushed to a clinch--bands that crushed and burned so that each sobbingbreath seemed a blade, white-hot from the furnace, stabbing and searinginto his tortured lungs. Felt the vital force and strength of him ebband weaken so that the lean, slender fingers that groped for MacNair'sthroat closed feebly and dropped limp to dangle impotently from hisnerveless arms. Felt the sudden release of the torturing bands ofsteel, the life-giving inrush of cool air, the dull pain as his dizzybody rocked to the shock of a crashing blow upon the jaw, the blazingflash of the blow that closed his eye, and, then--more soul-searing, and of deeper hurt than the blows that battered and marred--the feel ofthick fingers twisted into the collar of his soft shirt. Felt himselfshaken with an incredible ferocity that whipped his ankles againstfloor and counter edge. And, the crowning indignity of all--felthimself dragged like a flayed carcass the full length of the room, outof the door, and jerked to his feet upon the verge of the steep descentto the lake. Felt the propelling impact of the heavy boot that senthim crashing headlong into the underbrush through which he rolled andtumbled like a mealbag, to bring up suddenly in the cold water. 

The whole scene passed through his brain as dreams flash--almost withinthe batting of an eye. Half-consciously, he saw the girl's suddenstart, and the look of alarm upon her face as she drew back from theglare of his hate-flashing eyes and the bestial snarl of his lips. With an effort he composed himself:

"Pardon, Miss Elliston, I have frightened you with an uncouth show ofsavagery. It is a rough, hard country--this land of the wolf and thecaribou. Primal instincts and brutish passions here areunrestrained--a fact responsible for my present battered appearance. For, as I said, it was no accident that marred me thus, unless, perchance, the prowling of the brute across my path may be attributedto accident--rather, I believe it was timed. "

"The brute! Who, or what is the brute? And why should he harm you?"

"MacNair is his name--Bob MacNair. " There was a certain tense hardnessin the man's tone, and Chloe was conscious that the smouldering eyeswere regarding her searchingly. 

"MacNair, " said the girl, "why, that is the name on those bales!"

"What bales?"

"The bales in the scow--they are on the river-bank now. "

"My scows carrying MacNair's freight!" cried the man, and motioning herto accompany him he walked rapidly to the bank where lay the four orfive pieces, upon which Chloe had read the name. Lapierre dropped tohis knees and regarded the pieces intently, suddenly he leaped to hisfeet with a laugh and called in the Indian tongue to one of hiscanoemen. The man brought him an ax, and raising it high, Lapierrebrought it crashing upon the innocent-looking freight piece. There wasa sound of smashing staves, a gurgle of liquid, and the strong odour ofwhiskey assailed their nostrils. 

The piece was a keg, cunningly disguised as to shape, and covered withburlap. One by one the man attacked the other pieces marked with thename of MacNair, and as each cask was smashed, the whiskey gurgled andsplashed and seeped into the ground. Chloe watched breathlessly untilLapierre finished, and with a smile of grim satisfaction, tossed the axupon the ground. 

"There is one consignment of firewater that will never be delivered, "he said. 

"What does it mean?" asked Chloe, and Lapierre noticed that her eyeswere alight with interest. "Who is this MacNair, and----"

For answer Lapierre took her gently by the arm and led her back to thelog. 

"MacNair, " he began, "is the most atrocious tyrant that ever breathed. Like myself, he is a free-trader--that is, he is not in the employ ofthe Hudson Bay Company. He is rich, and owns a permanent post of hisown, to the northward, on Snare Lake, while I vend my wares under God'sown canopy, here and there upon the banks of lakes and rivers. "

"But why should he attack you?"

The man shrugged. "Why? Because he hates me. He hates any one whodeals fairly with the Indians. His own Indians, a band of the YellowKnives, together with an onscouring of Tantsawhoots, Beavers, Dog-ribs, Strongbows, Hares, Brushwoods, Sheep, and Huskies, he holds in abjectpeonage. Year in and year out he forces them to dig in his mines fortheir bare existence. Over on the Athabasca they call him BruteMacNair, and among the Loucheaux and Huskies he is known asThe-Bad-Man-of-the-North. 

"He pays no cash for labour, nor for fur, and he sees to it that hisIndians are always hopelessly in his debt. He trades them whiskey. They are his. His to work, and to cheat, and to debauch, and to venthis rage upon--for his passions are the wild, unbridled passions of thefighting wolf. He kills! He maims! Or he allows to live! TheIndians are his, body and soul. Their wives and their children arehis. He owns them. _He_ is the law!

"He warned me out of the North. I ignored that warning. The land isbroad and free. There is room for all, therefore I brought in my goodsand traded. And, because I refused to grind the poor savages under theiron heel of oppression, because I offer a meagre trifle over and abovewhat is necessary for their bare existence, the brute hates me. Hecame upon me at Fort Rae, and there, in the presence of the factor, hisclerk, and his chief trader, he fell upon me and beat me so that forthree days I lay unable to travel. "

"But the others!" interrupted the girl, "the factor and his men! Whydid they allow it?"

Again the gleam of hate flashed in the man's eyes. "They allowed itbecause they are in league with him. They fear him. They fear hishold upon the Indians. So long as he maintains a permanent post ahundred and seventy-five miles to the northward--more than two hundredand fifty by the water trail--they know that he will not seriouslyinjure the trade at Fort Rae. With me it is different. I trade here, and there, wherever the children of the wilderness are to be found. Therefore I am hated by the men of the Hudson Bay Company who wouldhave been only too glad had MacNair killed me. "

Chloe, who had listened eagerly to every word, leaped to her feet andlooked at Lapierre with shining eyes. "Oh! I think it is splendid!You are brave, and you stand for the right of things! For the welfareof the Indians! I see now why the factor warned me against you! Hewanted to discredit you. "

Lapierre smiled. "The factor? What factor? And what did he tell you?"

"The factor at the Landing. 'Beware of Pierre Lapierre, ' he said; andwhen I asked him who Pierre Lapierre was, and why I should beware ofhim, he shrugged his shoulders and would say nothing. "

Lapierre nodded. "Ah yes--the company men--the factors and tradershave no love for the free-trader. We cannot blame them. It istradition. For nearly two and one-half centuries the company has stoodfor power and authority in the outlands--and has reaped the profits ofthe wild places. Let us be generous. It is an old and respectableinstitution. It deals fairly enough with the Indians--by its ownmeasure of fairness, it is true--but fairly enough. With the company Ihave no quarrel. 

"But with MacNair--" he stopped abruptly and shrugged. The gleam ofhate that flashed in his eyes always at the mention of the name faded. "But why speak of him--surely there are more pleasant subjects, " hesmiled, "for instance your school--it interests me greatly. "

"Interests you! I thought it displeased you! Surely a look ofannoyance or suspicion leaped from your eyes when I mentioned mymission. "

The man laughed lightly. "Yes? And can you blame me--when I thoughtyou were in league with Brute MacNair? For, since his post wasestablished, no independent save myself has dared to encroach upon eventhe borders of his empire. "

Chloe Elliston flushed deeply. "And you thought I would league myselfwith a man like _that_?"

"Only for a moment. Stop and think. All my life I have lived in theNorth, and, except for a few scattered priests and missionaries, no onehas pushed beyond the outposts for any purpose other than for gain. And the trader's gain is the Indian's loss--for, few deal fairly. Therefore, when I came upon your big outfit upon the very threshold ofMacNair's domain, I thought, of course, this was some new machinationof the brute. Even now I do not understand--the expense, and all. TheIndians cannot afford to pay for education. "

It was the girl's turn to laugh. A rippling, light-hearted laugh--thelaughter of courage and youth. The barrier that had suddenly loomedbetween herself and this man of the North vanished in a breath. He hadshown her her work, had pointed out to her a foeman worthy of hersteel. She darted a swift glance toward Lapierre who sat staring intothe fire. Would not this man prove an invaluable ally in her war ofdeliverance?

"Do not trouble yourself about the expense, " she smiled. "I havemoney--'oodles of it, ' as we used to say in school--millions, if I needthem! And I'm going to fight this Brute MacNair until I drive him outof the North! And you? Will you help me to rid the country of thisscourge and free the people from his tyranny? Together we could workwonders. For your heart is with the Indians, as mine is. "

Again the girl glanced into the man's face and saw that the deep-setblack eyes fairly glittered with enthusiasm and eagerness--an eagernessand enthusiasm that a keener observer than Chloe Elliston might havenoticed, sprang into being suspiciously coincident with her mention ofthe millions. Lapierre did not answer at once, but deftly rolled acigarette. The end of the cigarette glowed brightly as he filled hislungs and blew a plume of grey smoke into the air. 

"Allow me a little time to think. For this is a move of importance, and to be undertaken not lightly. It is no easy task you have setyourself. It is possible you will not win--highly probable, in fact, for----"

"But I _shall_ win! I am _right_--and upon my winning depends thefuture of a people! Think it over until tomorrow, if you will, but--"She paused abruptly, and her soft, hazel eyes peered searchingly intothe depths of the restless black ones. "Your sympathies _are_ with theIndians, aren't they?"

Lapierre tossed the half-smoked cigarette onto the ground. "Can youdoubt it?" The man's eyes were not gleaming now, and into their depthshad crept a look of ineffable sadness. 

"They are my people, " he said softly. "Miss Elliston, _I am anIndian_!"

CHAPTER IV

CHLOE SECURES AN ALLY

A shout from the bank heralded the appearance of the first scow, whichwas closely followed by the two others. When they had landed, Lapierreissued a few terse orders, and the scowmen leaped to his bidding. Theoverturned scow was righted and loaded, and the remains of thedemolished whiskey-kegs burned. Lapierre himself assisted the threewomen to their places, and as Chloe seated herself near the bow, hesmiled into her eyes. 

"Vermilion was a good riverman, but so am I. Do you think you cantrust your new pilot?"

Somehow, the words seemed to imply more than the mere steering of ascow. Chloe flushed slightly, hesitated a moment, and then returnedthe man's smile frankly. 

"Yes, " she answered gravely, "I know I can. "

Their eyes met in a long look. Lapierre gave the command to shove off, and when the scows were well in the grip of the current, he turnedagain to the girl at his side. Their hands touched, and again Chloewas conscious of the strange, new thrill that quickened herheart-beats. She did not withdraw her hand, and the fingers ofLapierre closed about her palm. He leaned toward her. "Only quarterIndian, " he said softly. "My grandmother was the daughter of a greatchief. "

The girl felt the hot blood mount to her face and gently withdrew herhand. Somehow, she could not tell why, the words seemed good to hear. She smiled, and Lapierre, who was watching her intently, smiled inreturn. 

"We are approaching quick water; we will cover many miles today, andtonight beside the camp-fire we will talk further. "

Chloe's eyes searched the scows. "Where are the two who attacked Lena?Your men captured them. "

Lapierre's smile hardened. "Those who deserted me for Vermilion? Oh, I--dismissed them from my service. "

Hour after hour, as the scows rushed northward, Chloe watched theshores glide past; watched the swirling, boiling water of the river;watched the solemn-faced scowmen, and the silent, vigilant pilot; butmost of all she watched the pilot, whose quick eye picked out thedevious channel, and whose clear, alert brain directed, with a movementof the lancelike pole, the labours of the men at the sweeps. 

She contrasted his manner--quiet, graceful, sure--with that ofVermilion, the very swing of whose pole proclaimed the vaunting, arrogant braggart. And she noted the difference in the attitude of thescowmen toward these two leaders. Their obedience to Vermilion'sorders had been a surly, protesting obedience; while their obedience toLapierre's slightest motion was the quiet, alert obedience thatproclaimed him master of men, as his own silent vigilance proclaimedhim master of the roaring waters. 

When the sun finally dipped behind the barren scrub-topped hills, thescows were beached at the mouth of a deep ravine, from whose depthssounded the trickle of a tiny cascade. Lapierre assisted the womenfrom the scow, issued a few short commands, and, as if by magic, adozen fires flashed upon the beach, and in an incredibly short space oftime Chloe found herself seated upon her blankets inside hermosquito-barred tent. 

Supper over, Harriet Penny immediately sought her bed, and Lapierre ledChloe to a brightly burning camp-fire. 

Nearby other fires burned, surrounded by dark, savage figures thatshowed indistinct in the half-light. The girl's eyes rested for amoment upon Lapierre, whose thin, handsome features, richly tanned bylong exposure to the Northern winds and sun, presented a pleasingcontrast to the swart flat faces of the rivermen, who sat in groupsabout their fires, or lay wrapped in their blankets upon the gravel. 

"You have decided?" abruptly asked Chloe, in a voice of ill-concealedeagerness. Lapierre's face became at once grave, and he gazed sombrelyinto the fire. 

"I have pondered deeply. Through the long hours, while the scow rushedinto the North, there came to me a vision of my people. In the rocks, in the bush, and the ragged hills I saw it; and in the swirl of themighty river. And the vision was good!"

The voice of the man's Indian grandmother spoke from his lips, and thesoul of her glowed in his deep-set eyes. 

"Even now _Sakhalee Tyee_ speaks from the stars of the night sky. Mypeople shall learn the wisdom of the white man. The power of theoppressor shall be broken, and the children of the far places shallcome into their own. "

The man's voice had dropped into the rhythmic intonation of the Indianorator, and his eyes were fixed upon the names that curled, lean andred, among the dry sticks of the camp-fire. Chloe gazed in fascinationinto the rapt face of this man of many moods. The soul of the girlcaught the enthusiasm of his words, and she, too, saw the vision--sawit as she had seen it upon the wave-lapped rock of the river-bank. 

"You will help me?" she cried; "will join forces with me in a waragainst the ruthless exploitation of a people who should be as free andunfettered as the air they breathe?"

Lapierre bent his gaze upon her face slowly, like one emerging from atrance. 

"Yes, " he answered deliberately; "it is of that I wish to speak. Letus consider the obstacles in our path--the matter of officialinterference. The government will soon learn of your activities, andthe government is prone to look askance at any tampering with theIndians by an institution not connected with the Church or the State. "

"I have my permit, " Chloe answered, "and many commendatory letters fromOttawa. The men who rule were inclined to think I would accomplishnothing; but they were willing to let me try. "

"That, then, disposes of our most serious difficulty. Will you tell menow where you intended to locate?"

"There is too much traffic upon the river, " answered the girl. "Thescow brigades pass and repass; and, at least until my little colony isfairly established, it must be located in some place uncontaminated bythe presence of so rough, lawless, and drunken an element. As I toldyou before, I do not know where my ideal site is to be found. I hadintended to talk the matter over with the factor at Fort Rae. "

"What! That devil of a Haldane? The man who is hand-in-glove withBrute MacNair!"

"You forget, " smiled the girl, "that until this day I never even heardof Brute MacNair. "

The man smiled. "Very true. I had forgotten. But it is fortunateindeed that chance threw us together. I tremble to think what wouldhave been your fate should you have acted upon the advice of ColinHaldane. "

"But surely you know the country. You will advise me. "

"Yes, I will advise you. I am with you in this venture; with you tothe last gasp; with you heart and soul, until that devil MacNair isdead or driven out of the North, and his Indians scattered to the fourwinds. "

"Scattered! Why scattered? Why not held together for their educationand betterment? And you say you will be with me until MacNair iseither dead or driven out of the North. What then--will you desert methen? This MacNair is only an obstacle in our path--an obstacle to bebrushed aside that the real work may begin. Yet you spoke as though hewere the main issue. "

Lapierre interrupted her, speaking rapidly: "Yes, of course. Bear withme, I pray you. I spoke hastily, and without thinking. My feelingsfor the moment carried me away. As you see, the marks of the Brute'shands are still too fresh upon me to regard him impersonally--anobstacle, as it were. To me he is a brute! A fiend! A demon! I_hate_ him!"

Lapierre shook a clenched fist toward the North, and the words fairlysnarled between his lips. With an effort he controlled himself. "Ihave in mind the very place for your school, a spot accessible from alldirections--the mouth of the Yellow Knife River, upon the north arm ofGreat Slave Lake. There you will be unmolested by the debauchingrivermen, and yet within easy reach of any who may desire to takeadvantage of your school. The very place above all places! In thewhole North you could not have chosen a better! And I shall accompanyyou, and direct the building of your houses and stockade. 

"MacNair will learn shortly of your fort--everything is a 'fort' uphere--and he will descend upon you like a ramping lion. When he findsyou are a woman, he will do you no violence. He will scent at once arival trading-post and will hurt your cause in every way possible; willuse every means to discredit you among the Indians, and to discourageyou. But even he will do a woman no physical harm. 

"And right here let me caution you--do not temporize with him. Hestands in the North for oppression; gain at any cost; fordebauchery--everything that you do not. Between you and Brute MacNairthere can be no truce. He is powerful. Do not for a moment underrateeither his strength or his sagacity. He is a man of wealth, and hishold upon the Indians is absolute. I cannot remain with you, butthrough my Indians I shall keep in touch with you, work with you; andtogether we will accomplish the downfall of this brute of the North. "

For a long time the two figures sat by the fire while the camp slept, and talked of many things. And when, well toward midnight, ChloeElliston retired to her tent, she felt that she had known this manalways. For it is the way of life that stress of events, and notduration of time, marks the measure of acquaintance and intimacy. Pierre Lapierre, Chloe Elliston had known but one day, and yet shebelieved that among all her acquaintances this man she knew best. 

By the fire Lapierre's eyes followed the girl until she disappearedwithin the tent, and as he looked a huge figure arose from the deepshadows of the scrub, and with a hand grasping the flap of the tent, turned and stared, silent and grim and forbidding, straight intoLapierre's eyes. 

The man turned away with a frown. The figure was Big Lena. 

CHAPTER V

PLANS AND SPECIFICATIONS

At the mouth of the Slave River the outfit was transferred to twelvelarge freight canoes, each carrying three tons, and manned by sixlean-shouldered canoemen, in charge of one Louis LeFroy, Lapierre's bosscanoeman. Straight across the vast expanse of Great Slave Lake theyheaded, and skirting the shore of the north arm, upon the evening of thesecond day, entered the Yellow Knife River. 

The site selected by Pierre Lapierre for Chloe Elliston's school was, inpoint of location, as the quarter-breed had said, an excellent one. Upona level plateau at the top of the high bank that slants steeply to thewater of the Yellow Knife River, a short distance above its mouth, Lapierre set the canoemen to cutting the timber and brush from a widearea. The girl had come into the North fully prepared for a longsojourn, and in her thirty-odd tons of outfit were found all toolsnecessary for the clearing of land and the erection of buildings. Brushwood and trees fell before the axes of the half-breeds and Indians, who worked in a sort of frenzy under the lashing drive of Lapierre'stongue; and the night skies glowed red in the flare of the flames wherethe brush and tree-tops burned in the clearing. 

Two days later a rectangular clearing, three hundred by five hundredfeet, was completed, and early in the morning of the third day Chloestood beside Lapierre and looked over the cleared oblong with its pilesof smoking grey ashes, and its groups of logs that lay ready to be rolledinto place to form the walls of her buildings. 

Lapierre seemed ill at ease. Immediately upon the arrival of the outfithe had dispatched two of his own Indians northward to spy upon themovements of MacNair, for the man made no secret of his desire to be wellupon his way before the trader should learn of the building of the forton the river. 

It had been Chloe's idea to lay out her "village, " as she called it, upona rather elaborate scheme, the plans for which had been drawn by anarchitect whose clients' tastes ran to million-dollar "summer cottages"at Seashore-by-the-Sea. 

First, there was to be the school itself, an ornate building of crossedrafters and overhanging eaves. Then the dormitories, two long, parallelbuildings with halls, individual rooms, and baths--one for the women andone for men--the two to be connected by a common dining-hall in such amanner as to form three sides of a hollow square. Connected to thedining-hall was to be a commodious kitchen, and back of that a fullyequipped carpenter-shop and a laundry. 

There were also to be a trading-post, where the Indians could purchasesupplies at cost; a six-room cottage for the accommodation of Big Lena, Miss Penny, and Chloe; and numerous three-room cabins for the housing ofwhole families of Indians, which the girl fondly pictured as flocking infrom the wilderness to have the errors of their heathenish religionpointed out to them upon a brand-new blackboard, and the discomforts oftheir nomadic lives assuaged by an introduction to collapsible bath-tubsand the multiplication table. For hers was to be a mission as well as aschool. Truly the souls north of sixty were destined to owe her much. For they borrow cheerfully, and repay--never. 

So much for Chloe Elliston's plan. Lapierre, however, had his owneminently more practical, if less Utopian, ideas concerning the erectionof a trading-post; for in the quarter-breed's mind the planting of anindependent trading-post upon the very threshold of MacNair's wildernessempire was of far greater importance than the establishment of a school, or mission, or any other institution--especially when the post was onewhich he himself had set about to control. The man's eyes gleamed andthe thin lips smiled as his glance rested momentarily upon the figure ofthe girl--the unwitting, and therefore the more powerful, weapon thatchance had placed in his hands in his battle against MacNair. 

His idea of a post was simplicity itself: One long, log trading-roomwith an ell for a storehouse, and a room--two at the most--in the rearfor the accommodation of the three women. The whole to be erected in thecentre of the clearing, and surrounded by a fifteen-foot log stockade. 

Boldly he broached his plan. 

"But this is _not_ a trading-post!" objected the girl. "The store is aside issue and is to be conducted merely to permit those who takeadvantage of my school to obtain the necessities of life at a fair andreasonable price. "

"Your words were well chosen, Miss Elliston. For if you begin toundersell the H. B. C. , and more especially the independents, every Indianin the North will proceed to 'take advantage' of your school and of youalso. "

"But they are being robbed!"

Lapierre smiled. "They do not know it; they are used to it. Let me warnyou that to tamper with existing trade schedules, except by oneexperienced in the commerce of the North, is to invite disaster. Youwill lose money!"

"But you told me that you yourself gave the Indians better bargains thaneither the Hudson Bay Company or MacNair. "

"I know the North! And you may be assured the concessions are morenominal than real. "

"Very well, then, " flashed the girl. "My concessions will be more realthan nominal, and of that you may be assured. If my store pays expenses, well and good!" And by the tone of the girl's voice, and the slight, unconscious out-thrust of her chin, Pierre Lapierre knew that the timewas unpropitious for a further discussion of trade principles. 

Chloe was speaking again: "But to return to the buildings----"

Lapierre interrupted her, speaking earnestly: "My dear Miss Elliston, consider the circumstances, the limitations. " He tapped lightly the rollof blue-prints the girl held in her hand. "Those plans were made by aman who had not the slightest knowledge of conditions as they exist here. "

"The buildings are to be very simple. "

"Undoubtedly. But simplicity is relative. A building that would beconsidered simplicity itself in the States, might well be intricatebeyond the possibility of construction here in the wilderness. Do yourealize that among our men is not one who can read a blue-print, or hasever seen one? Do you realize that to erect buildings in accordance withthese plans would require a force of skilled mechanics under thesupervision of a master builder? And do you realize that time is a mostimportant factor in our present undertaking? Who can tell at what momentBrute MacNair may swoop down, upon us like Attila of old, and strike afatal blow to our little outpost of civilization? And if he finds _me_here--" His voice trailed into silence and his eyes swept gloomily thenorthern reach of the river. 

Chloe appeared unimpressed. "I hardly think he will resort to violence. There is the law--even here in the wilderness. Slow to act, perhaps, because of the inaccessibility of the wild country; but once itsmachinery is in motion, as unbending and as indomitable as justiceitself. You see, I have read of your Mounted Police. "

"The Mounted!" Lapierre laughed. "Yes--I see you have _read_ of them!Had you derived your information in a more direct manner--had you livedamong them--if you _knew_ them--your childlike trust in them would seemas absurd, perhaps, as it does to me!"

"What do you mean?" cried the girl, regarding the quarter-breed with asearching glance. "That the men of the Mounted are--that they maybe--influenced?"

Again Lapierre laughed--harshly. "Just that, Miss Elliston! Theyare--crooked. They may be influenced!"

"I cannot believe that!"

"You will--later. "

"You mean that MacNair has----"

The man interrupted with a wave of his hand. "What I have told you ofMacNair is the truth. I shall prove this to your own satisfaction, atthe proper time. Until then, I ask you to believe me. Admitting, then, that I have spoken the truth, do you suppose for an instant that thesefacts are not known to the Mounted? If not, then the officers areinefficient fools. If they are known, why don't the Mounted remedymatters? Because MacNair is rich! Because he buys them, body and soul!Because he owns them, like he owns the Indians! That's why!

"Just stop and consider what is ahead of a dollar-a-day policeman. Whenhis five-year term of enlistment has expired, he has his choice ofenlisting for another term, or making his living some other way. At theend of the five years he has learned to hate the service with a hatredthat is soul-searing. It is the hardest, strictest, most exacting, andmost ill-paid service in the world; and the five years of the man'senlistment have practically rendered him unfit for earning a living. 

"He has lived in the wild country. He knows the wild country. Andcivilization, with its rapid advance, has left him five years behind thetimes. Our ex-man of the Mounted is fit for only the commonest labour. And, because there are almost no employers in the North, he cannot turnhis knowledge of the wilds to profitable account, unless he turnssmuggler, whiskey-runner, or fur-poisoner. The men know this. Therefore, when an officer whose patrol takes him into the far 'backblocks' is approached by a man like MacNair, with his pockets bulgingwith gold, what report goes down to Regina, and on to Ottawa?

"Yes, Miss Elliston, in the Northland there is law. But the law is afundamental law--the primitive law of savage might. The strong devourthe weak. Only the fit survive--survive to be ruled, to be trampled, tobe _owned_ by the strongest. And the law is the measure of might!Primal instincts--pristine passions--primordial brutishness permeate thewhole North--rule it. 

"The wolf and savage _carcajo_ drag down the hunger-weakened caribou andthe deer, and rip the warm, red flesh from their bones before their eyeshave glazed. And, in turn, the wolf and the _carcajo_, the unoffendingbeaver and musquash, the mink, the fisher, the fox, and the otter aretrapped by savage man and the pelts ripped from their twitching bodieswhile life and sensibility remain. They are harder to skin when cold. And with the thermometer at forty or sixty below zero, the little bodieschill almost instantly if mercifully killed--therefore, they are notkilled, but flayed alive and their bleeding bodies tossed upon the snow. They die quickly--then. But--they have lived through the skinning! Andthat is the North!"

Chloe Elliston shuddered and drew away in horror. "Is--is thispossible?" she faltered. "Do they----"

"They do. The fur business is not a pretty business, Miss Elliston. Butneither is the North pretty--nor are its inhabitants. But the traffic infur is inherently the business of the North--and its history is writtenin blood--the blood and the suffering of thousands of men and millions ofanimals. But the profits are great. Fashion has decreed that My Ladyshall be swathed in fur--therefore, men go mad and die in the barrens, and the quivering red bodies of small animals bleed, and curl up, andstiffen upon the hard crust of the snow! No, the North is not gentle, Miss Elliston----"

"Don't! Don't!" faltered the girl. "It is all too--too horrible--toosickeningly brutal--too--too unbelievable!" She covered her eyes withher hand. 

Lapierre answered, dryly. "Yes. The North is that way. It has alwaysbeen so--and it always will----"

Chloe's hand dropped from her eyes and, she faced him in a sudden burstof passion. Her sensitive lips quivered and her eyes narrowed to therapier-blade eyes that were the eyes of Tiger Elliston. She tore theroll of blue-prints to bits and ground them into the mould with the heelof her boot. 

"_It will not!_" Her voice cut sharply, and hard. "What do you know ofwhat the North _will_ be? You know it only as it has been--as it is, perhaps. But, of its future you know nothing. I tell you the North willchange! It is a hard land--cruel--elemental--raw! But it is _big_!And, when it awakens, its very bigness, the virile force and strength ofit, will turn against its savagery, its cruelty, its brutishness; andabove all other lands it will stand for the protection of the weak andfor the right of things to live!"

The quarter-breed gazed into her face with a look of undisguisedadmiration. "Ah, Miss Elliston, you are beautiful, now--beautifulalways--but, at this moment--radiant--divine--" Chloe seemed not to hearhim. 

"And that is to be _my_ work--to awaken the North! To bring to itspeople the comforts--the advantages of civilization!"

"The North is too big for you, Miss Elliston. It is too big for _men_. Pardon, but it is not a woman's land. "

The girl's eyes flashed. "Suppose we leave sex out of it, Mr. Lapierre. They said of my grandfather that 'the harder they fought him, the betterhe liked 'em, ' and that 'he never knew when he was licked. ' Maybe thatis the reason he never was licked, but lived to carry civilization into aland that was a thousand years deeper in savagery than this land is. Andtoday civilization--education--Christianity exist where seventy-fiveyears ago the chance visitor was tortured first and eaten afterward. "

Lapierre shrugged. "It is useless to argue. I am in sympathy with yourundertaking. I admire your courage, and the high ideals of your mission. But, permit me to remind you that your grandfather, whoever he was, was_not_ a woman. Also, that here, in the North, Christianity and educationhave failed to civilize--the educated ones and the converts are worsethan the others. "

The girl's eyes darkened and the man noticed the peculiar out-thrust ofthe chin. He hastened to change the subject. 

"I am glad you have abandoned those plans. They were useless. May I nowproceed with the building?"

Chloe smiled. "Yes, " she answered, "by all means. But, as this is to be_my_ undertaking, I think I shall have it _my_ way. Build the storefirst, if you please----"

"And the stockade?"

"There will be no stockade. "

"No stockade! Are you crazy? If MacNair----"

"I will attend to MacNair, Mr. Lapierre. "

"Do you imagine MacNair will stand quietly by and allow you to build atrading-post here on the Yellow Knife? Do you think he will listen toour explanation that this is a school and that the store is merely aplaything? I tell you he will countenance neither the school nor thepost. Education for the natives is the last thing MacNair will standfor. "

"As I told you, I will attend to MacNair. My people will not be armed. The stockade would be silly. "

Lapierre smiled; drew closer, and dropped his voice to a confidentialwhisper. "I can put one hundred rifles and ten thousand cartridges inthe hands of your people in ten days' time. "

"Thank you, Mr. Lapierre. I don't need your guns. "

The man made a gesture of impatience. "If you choose to ignore MacNair, you must, at least, be prepared to handle the Indians who will crowd yourcounter like wolves when they hear you are underselling the H. B. C. Whenyou explain that only those who are members of your school may trade atyour post, you will be swamped with enrolments. You cannot teach thewhole North. 

"Those that you will be forced to turn away--what will they do? Theywill not understand. Instead of returning to their teepees, their nets, and their traplines, they will hang about your post, growing gaunter andhungrier with the passing of the days. And the hunger that gnaws attheir bellies will arouse the latent lawlessness of their hearts, andthen--if MacNair has not already struck, he will strike then. ForMacNair knows Indians and the workings of the Indian mind. He knows howthe sullen hatred of their souls may be fanned into a mighty flame. HisIndians will circulate among the hungry horde, and the banks of theYellow Knife will be swept bare. MacNair will have struck. And withsuch consummate skill will his hand be disguised, that not the faintestbreath of suspicion will point toward himself. "

"I shall sell to all alike, while my goods last, whether they are membersof my school or not----"

"That will be even worse than----"

"It seems you always think of the worst thing that could possiblyhappen, " smiled the girl. 

"'To fear the worst, oft cures the worst, '" quoted Lapierre. 

"'Don't cross a bridge 'til you get to it' is not so classic, perhaps, but it saves a lot of needless worry. "

"'Foresight is better than hindsight' is equally unclassic, andinfinitely better generalship. Bridges crossed at the last moment aregenerally crossed from the wrong end, I have noticed. " The man leanedtoward her and looked straight into her eyes. "Oh, Miss Elliston--can'tyou see--I am thinking of your welfare--of your safety; I have known youbut a short time, as acquaintance is reckoned, but already you havebecome more to me than----"

Chloe interrupted him with a gesture. 

"Don't--please--I----"

Lapierre ignored the protest, and, seizing her hand in both his own, spoke rapidly. "I will say it! I have known it from the moment of ourfirst meeting. I love you! And I shall win you--and together wewill----"

"Oh, don't--don't--not--now--please!"

The man bowed and released the hand. "I can wait, " he said gravely. "But please--for your own good--take my advice. I know the North. I wasborn in the North, and am of the North. I have sought only to help you. Why do you refuse to profit by my experience? Must you endure what Ihave endured to learn what I offer freely to tell you? I shudder tothink of It. The knowledge gleaned by experience may be the mostlasting, but it is dearly purchased, and at a great loss--always. " Theman's voice was very earnest, and Chloe detected a note of mild reproach. She hastened to reply. 

"I _have_ profited by your advice--have learned much from what you havetold me. I am under obligation to you. I appreciate your interestin--in my work, and am indeed grateful for what you have done to furtherit. But there are some things, I suppose, one _must_ learn byexperience. I may be silly and headstrong. I may be wrong. But I standready to pay the price. The loss will be mine. See!" she criedexcitedly, "they are rolling up the logs for the store. "

"Yes, " answered the man gravely, "I bow to your wishes in the matter ofyour buildings. If you refuse to build a stockade we may erect a fewmore buildings--but as few as you can possibly manage with, MissElliston. I must hasten southward. "

Chloe studied for some moments. "The store"--she checked them off uponher fingers--"the schoolhouse, two bunkhouses, we can leave off thebathrooms, the river and the lake will serve until winter. "

Lapierre nodded, and the girl continued. "We can do without the laundryand the carpenter-shop, and the individual cabins. The Indians can setup their teepees in the clearing, and build the cabins and the otherbuildings later. But I _would_ like a little cottage for myself, andMiss Penny, and Lena. We _could_ make three rooms do. Can we have threerooms?"

Lapierre bowed low. "It shall be as you say, " he replied. "And now, ifyou will excuse me, I shall see to it that these _canaille_ work. LeFroythey do not fear. "

He turned to go, and at that moment Chloe Elliston saw a look of terrorflash into his eyes. Saw his fingers clutch and grope uncertainly at thegay scarf at his throat. Saw the muscles of his face work painfully. Saw his colour fade from rich tan to sickly yellow. An inarticulate, gurgling sound escaped his lips, and his eyes stared in horror toward apoint beyond and behind her. 

She turned swiftly and gazed into the face of a man who had approachedunnoticed from the direction of the river, and stood a few paces distantwith his eyes fixed upon her. As their glances met the man's gazecontinued unflinching, and the soft-brimmed Stetson remained on his head. Her slender fingers clenched into her palms and, unconsciously, her chinthrust forward--for she knew intuitively that the man was "Brute" MacNair. 

CHAPTER VI

BRUTE MACNAIR

Estimates are formed, in a far greater measure than most of us care toadmit, upon first impressions. Manifestly shallow and embryonic thoughwe admit them to be, our first impressions crystallize, in nine casesout of ten, into our fixed or permanent opinions. And, after all, thereason for this absurdity is simple--egotism. 

Our opinions, based upon first impressions--and we rarely pause toanalyse first impressions--have become _our opinions_, the result, aswe fondly imagine, of our judgment. Our judgment must beright--because it is our judgment. Therefore, unconsciously orconsciously, every subsequent impression is bent to bolster up andsustain that judgment. We hate to be wrong. We hate to admit, even toourselves, that we are wrong. 

Strange, isn't it? How often we are right (permit the smile) in ourestimate of people?

When Chloe Elliston turned to face MacNair among the stumps of thesunlit clearing, her opinion of the man had already been formed. Hewas Brute MacNair, one to be hated, despised. To be fought, conquered, and driven out of the North--for the good of the North. His influencewas a malignant ulcer--a cancerous plague-spot, whose evil tentacles, reaching hidden and unseen, would slowly but surely fasten themselvesupon the civilization of the North--sap its vitality--poison its blood. 

In the flash of her first glance the girl's eyes took in everyparticular and detail of him. She noted the huge frame, broad, yetlean with the gaunt leanness of health, and endurance, and physicalstrength. The sinew-corded, bronzed hands that clenched slowly as hisglance rested for a moment upon the face of Lapierre. Theweather-tanned neck that rose, columnlike, from the open shirt-throat. The well-poised head. The prominent, high-bridged nose. The lanternjaw, whose rugged outline was but half-concealed by the roughly trimmedbeard of inky blackness. And, the most dominant feature of all, thecompelling magnetism of the steel-grey eyes of him--eyes, deep-setbeneath heavy black brows that curved and met--eyes that stabbed, andbored, and probed, as if to penetrate to the ultimate motive. Hardeyes they were, whose directness of gaze spoke at once fearlessness andintolerance of opposition; spoke, also, of combat, rather thandiplomacy; of the honest smashing of foes, rather than dissimulation. 

Ail this the girl saw in the first moments of their meeting. She saw, too, that the eyes held a hostile gleam, and that she need expect fromtheir owner no sympathy--no deference of sex. If war were to bebetween them, it would be a man's war, waged upon man's terms, in aman's country. No quarter would be given--Chloe's lips pressedtight--nor would any be asked. 

The moments lengthened into an appreciable space of time and the manremained motionless, regarding her with that probing, searching stare. Lapierre he ignored after the first swift glance. Instinctively thegirl knew that the man had no intention of being deliberately orstudiously rude in standing thus in her presence with head covered, andeyeing her with those steel-grey, steel-hard eyes. Nevertheless, hisattitude angered her, the more because she knew he did not intend to. And in this she was right--MacNair stared because he was silentlytaking her measure, and his hat remained upon his head because he knewof no reason why it should not remain upon his head. 

Chloe was the first to speak, and in her voice was more than a trace ofannoyance. 

"Well, Mr. Mind-Reader, have you figured me out--why I am here, and----"

"No. " The word boomed deeply from the man's throat, smashing thequestion that was intended to carry the sting of sarcasm. "Except thatit is for no good--though you doubtless think it is for great good. "

"Indeed!" The girl laughed a trifle sharply. "And who, then, is thejudge?"

"I am. " The calm assurance of the man fanned her rising anger, and, when she answered, her voice was low and steady, with the tonelessnessof forced control. 

"And your name, you Oligarch of the Far Outland? May I presume to askyour name?"

"Why ask? My name you already know. And upon the word of yon scum, you have judged. By the glint o' hate, as you looked into my eyes, Iknow--for one does not so welcome a stranger beyond the outposts. But, since you have asked, I will tell you; my name is MacNair--RobertMacNair, by my christening--Bob MacNair, in the speech of thecountry----"

"And, _Brute_ MacNair, upon the Athabasca?"

"Yes. Brute MacNair--upon the Athabasca--and the Slave, andMackenzie--and in the haunts of the whiskey-runners, and 'Fool'MacNair--in Winnipeg. "

"And among the oppressed and the down-trodden? Among those whoseheritage of freedom you have torn from them? What do they callyou--those whom you have forced into serfdom?" For a fleeting instantthe girl caught the faintest flicker, a tiny twinkle of amusement, inthe steely eyes. But, when the man answered, his eyes were steady. 

"_They_ call me friend. "

"Is their ignorance so abysmal?"

"They have scant time to learn from books--my Indians. They work. "

"But, a year from now, when they have begun to learn, what will theycall you then--_your_ Indians?"

"A year from now--two years---ten years--my Indians will callme--friend. "

Chloe was about to speak, but MacNair interrupted her. "I have scanttime for parley. I was starting for Mackay Lake, but when Old Elkreported two of yon scum's satellites hanging about, I dropped down theriver. By your words it's a school you will be building. If it were apost I would have to take you more seriously----"

"There will be a--" Chloe felt the warning touch of Lapierre's fingerat her back and ceased abruptly. MacNair continued, as if unmindful ofthe interruption. 

"Build your school, by all means. 'Tis a spot well chosen by yondevil's spawn, and for his own ends. By your eyes you are honest inpurpose--a fool's purpose--and a hare-brained carrying out of it. Youare being used as a tool by Lapierre. You will not believe this--notyet. Later--perhaps, when it is too late--but, that is youraffair--not mine. At the proper time I will crush Lapierre, and if yougo down in the crash you will have yourself to thank. I have warnedyou. Yon snake has poisoned your mind against me. In your eyes I amforedamned--and well damned--which causes me no concern, and you, nodoubt, much satisfaction. 

"Build your school, but heed well my words. You'll not tamper, one wayor another, with my Indians. One hundred and seventy miles north ofhere, upon Snare Lake, is my post. My Indians pass up and down theYellow Knife. They are to pass unquestioned, unmolested, unproselyted. Confine your foolishness to the southward and I shall notinterfere--carry it northward, and you shall hear from me. 

"Should you find yourself in danger from your enemies--or, your_friends_"--he shot a swift glance toward Lapierre, who had remained apace behind the girl--"send for me. Good day. "

Chloe Elliston was furious. She had listened in a sort of dumb rage asthe man's words stung, and stung again. MacNair's uncouth manner, hisblunt brutality of speech, his scornful, even contemptuous reference toher work, and, most of all, his utter disregard of her, struck her tothe very depths. As MacNair turned to go, she stayed him with a voicetrembling with fury. 

"Do you imagine, for an instant, I would stoop to seek _your_protection? I would die first! You have had things your own way toolong, Mr. Brute MacNair! You think yourself secure, in your smugegotism. But the end is in sight. Your petty despotism is doomed. You have hoodwinked the authorities, bribed the police, connived withthe Hudson Bay Company, bullied and browbeaten the Indians, cheatedthem out of their birthright of land and liberty, and have forced theminto a peonage that has filled your pockets with gold. "

She paused in her vehement outburst and glared defiantly at MacNair, asif to challenge a denial. But the man remained silent, and Chloe felther face flush as the shadow of a twinkle played for a fleeting instantin the depths of the hard eyes. She fancied, even, that the lipsbehind the black beard smiled--ever so slightly, "Oh, you needn't laugh! You think because I'm a woman you will be ableto do as you please with me----"

"I did not laugh, " answered the man gravely. "Why should I laugh? Youtake yourself seriously. You believe, even, that the things you havejust spoken are true. They _must_ be true. Has not Pierre Lapierre_told_ you they are true? And, why should the fact that you are awoman cause me to believe I could influence you? If an issue is atstake, as you believe, what has sex to do with it? I have known nowomen, except the squaws and the _kloochmen_ of the natives. 

"You said, 'you think, because I am a woman, you will be able to do asyou please with me. ' Are women, then, less honest than men? I do notbelieve that. In my life I have known no women, but I have read ofthem in books. I have not been to any school, but was taught by myfather, who, I think, was a very wise man. I learned from him, andfrom the books, of which he left a great number. I have alwaysbelieved women to be uncommonly like men--very good, or very bad, orvery commonplace because they were afraid to be either. But, I havenot read that they are less honest than men. "

"Thank you! Being a woman, I suppose I should consider myselfflattered. A year from this time you will know more about women---atleast, about _me_. You will have learned that I will not behoodwinked. I cannot be bribed. Nor can my silence, or acquiescencein your villainy be bought. I will not connive with you. And youcannot browbeat, nor bully, nor cheat me. "

"Yes?"

"Yes. And of one thing I am glad. I shall expect no consideration atyour hands because I am a woman. You will fight me as you would fighta man. "

"Fight you? Why should I fight you? I have no quarrel with you. Ifyou choose to build a school here, or even a trading-post, I have nodisposition--no right to gainsay you. You will soon tire of yourexperiment, and no harm will be done--the North will be unchanged. Youare nothing to me. I care nothing for your opinion of me--consideringits source, I am surprised it is not even worse. "

"Impossible! And do not think that I have not had corroborativeevidence. Ocular evidence of your brutal treatment of Mr. Lapierre--and did I not see with my own eyes the destruction of yourwhiskey?"

"What nonsense are you speaking now? My whiskey! Woman--never yethave I owned any whiskey. "

Chloe sneered--"And the Indians--do they not hate you?"

"Yes, those Indians do--and well they may. Most of them have crossedmy path at some time or other. And most of them will cross itagain--at Lapierre's instigation. Some of them I shall have to kill. "

"You speak lightly of murder. "

"Murder?"

"Yes, murder! The murder of poor, ignorant savages. It is an uglyword, isn't it? But why dissimulate? At least, we can call a spade aspade. These men are human beings. Their right to life and happinessis as good as yours or mine, and their souls are as----"

"Black as hell! Woman, from LeFroy down, you have collected about youas pretty a gang of cut-throats and outlaws as could have been found inall the North. Lapierre has seen to that. I do not envy you yourschool. But as long as you can be turned to their profit your personalsafety will be assured. They are too cunning, by far, to kill thegoose that lays the golden egg. "

"What a pretty speech! Your polish--your _savoir vivre_, does youcredit, I am sure. "

"I do not understand what you are saying, but----"

"There are many things you do not understand now that perhaps you willlater. For instance, in the matter of the Indians--_your_ Indians, Ibelieve you call them--you have warned, or commanded, possibly, wouldbe the better word----"

"Yes, " interrupted the man, "that is the better word----"

"Have commanded me not to--what was it you said--molest, question, orproselyte them. "

MacNair nodded. "I said that. "

"And I say _this_!" flashed the girl. "I shall use every means in mypower to induce your Indians to attend my school. I shall teach themthat they are free. That they owe allegiance and servitude to no man. That the land they inhabit is their land. That they are their ownmasters. I shall offer them education, that they may be able tocompete on equal terms with the white men when this land ceases to liebeyond the outposts. I shall show them that they are being robbed andcheated and forced into ignominious serfdom. And mark you this: if Ican't reach them upon the river, I shall go to your village, or post, or fort, or whatever you call your Snare Lake rendezvous, and I shallpoint out to them their wrongs. I shall appeal to their betternatures--to their manhood, and womanhood. That's what I think of yourcommand! I do not fear you! I _despise_ you!"

MacNair nodded, gravely. 

"I have already learned that women are as honest as men--more so, even, than most men. You are honest, and you are earnest. You believe inyourself, too. But you are more of a fool than I thought--more of afool than I thought any one could be. Lapierre is a great fool--but heis neither honest nor earnest. He is just a fool--a wise fool, withthe cunning and vices of the wolf, but with none of the wolf's leanvirtues. You are an honest fool. You are like a young moose-calf, who, because he happens to be born into the world, thinks the world wasmade for him to be born into. 

"Let us say the moose-calf was born upon a great mountain--a mountainwhose sides are crossed and recrossed by moose-trails--paths that windin and out among the trees, stamped by the hoofs of older and wisermoose. Upon these paths the moose-calf tries his wobbly legs, and oneday finds himself gazing out upon a plain where grass is. He has nouse for grass--does not even know what grass is for. Only he sees nopaths out there. The grass covers a quagmire, but of quagmires themoose-calf knows nothing, having been born upon a mountain. 

"Being a fool, the moose-calf soon tires of the beaten paths. Heventures downward toward the plain. A wolf, skulking through the scrubat the foot of the mountain, encounters, by chance, the moose-calf. The calf is fat. But, the wolf is cunning. He dares not harm themoose-calf hard by the trails of the mountain. He becomes friendly, and the fool moose-calf tells the wolf where he is bound. The wolfoffers to accompany him, and the moose-calf is glad--here is afriend--one who is wiser than the moose-kind, for he fears not toventure into the country of no trails. 

"Between the mountain and the plain stands a tree. This tree the wolfhates. Many squirrels work about its roots, and these squirrels arefatter than the squirrels of the scrub, for the tree feeds them. But, when the wolf would pounce upon them, they seek safety in the tree. The moose-calf--the poor fool moose-calf--comes to this tree, and, finding no paths curving around its base, becomes enraged because thetree does not step aside and yield the right of way. He will chargethe tree! He does not know that the tree has been growing for manyyears, and has become deeply rooted--immovable. The wolf looks on andsmiles. If the moose-calf butts the tree down, the wolf will get thesquirrels--and the calf. If the calf does not, the wolf will get thecalf. "

MacNair ceased speaking and turned abruptly toward the river. 

"My!" Chloe Elliston exclaimed. "Really, you are delightful, Mr. BruteMacNair. During the half-hour or more of our acquaintance you havecalled me, among other things, a fool, a goose, and a moose-calf. Irepeat that you are delightful, and honest, shall I say? No;candid--for I know that you are not honest. But do tell me the rest ofthe story. Don't leave it like The Lady or the Tiger. How will itend? Are you a prophet, or merely an allegorist?"

MacNair, who was again facing her, answered without a smile. "I do notknow about the lady or the tiger, nor of what happened to either. Ifthey were pitted against each other, my bet would be laid on the tiger, though my sympathy might be with the lady. I am not a prophet. Icannot tell you the end of the story. Maybe the fool moose-calf willbutt its brains out against the trunk of the tree. That would be nofault of the tree. The tree was there first, and was minding its ownbusiness. Maybe the calf will butt and get hurt, and scamper for home. Maybe it will succeed in eluding the fangs of the wolf, and reach itsmountain in safety. In such case it will have learned something. 

"Maybe it will butt and butt against the tree until it dislodges a limbfrom high among the branches, and the limb will fall to the ground andcrush, shall we say--the waiting wolf? And, maybe the calf will butt, learn that the tree is immovable, swallow its hurt, and pass on, givingthe tree a wide berth--pass on into the quagmire, with the wolf lickinghis chops, as grinning, he points out the way. "

Chloe, in spite of herself, was intensely interested. 

"But, " she asked, "you are quite sure the tree is immovable?"

"Quite sure. "

"Suppose, however, that this particular tree is rotten--rotten to theheart? That the very roots that hold it in place are rotten? And thatthe moose-calf butts 'til he butts it down--what then?"

There was a gleam of admiration in MacNair's eyes as he answered:

"If the tree is rotten it will fall. But it will fall to the mightypush o' the winds o' God--and not to the puny butt of a moose-calf!"Chloe Elliston was silent. The man was speaking again. "Good day toyou, madam, or miss, or whatever one respectfully calls a woman. As Itold you, I have known no women. I have lived always in the North. Death robbed me of my mother before I was old enough to remember her. The North, you see, is hard and relentless, even with those who knowher--and love her. "

The girl felt a sudden surge of sympathy for this strange, outspokenman of the Northland. She knew that the man had spoken, with nothought of arousing sympathy, of the dead mother he had never known. And in his voice was a note, not merely of deep regret, but of sadness. 

"I am sorry, " she managed to murmur. 

"What?"

"About your mother, I mean. "

The man nodded. "Yes. She was a good woman. My father told me of heroften. He loved her. "

The simplicity of the man puzzled Chloe. She was at a loss to reply. 

"I think--I believe--a moment ago, you asked my name. "

"No. "

"Oh!" The lines about the girl's mouth tightened. "Then I'll tellyou. I am Chloe Elliston--_Miss_ Chloe Elliston. The name meansnothing to you--now. A year hence it will mean much. "

"Aye, maybe. I'll not say it won't. More like, though, it will beforgot in half the time. The North has scant use for the passing whimso' women!"

CHAPTER VII

THE MASTER MIND

After the visit of MacNair, Chloe noticed a marked diminution in theanxiety of Lapierre to resume his interrupted journey. True, he drovethe Indians mercilessly from daylight till dark in the erection of thebuildings, but his air of tense expectancy was gone, and he ceased todart short, quick glances into the North, and to scan the upper reachof the river. 

The Indians, too, had changed. They toiled more stolidly now withapathetic ears for Lapierre's urging, where before they had worked infeverish haste, with their eyes upon the edges of the clearing. It wasobviously patent that the canoemen shared Lapierre's fear and hatred ofMacNair. 

In the late afternoon of the twelfth day after the rolling of the firstlog into place, Chloe accompanied Lapierre upon a tour of inspection ofthe completed buildings. The man had done his work well. Theschool-house and the barracks with the dining-room and kitchen werecomfortably and solidly built; entirely sufficient for present needsand requirements. But the girl wondered at the trading-post and itsappendant store-house they were fully twice the size she would haveconsidered necessary, and constructed as to withstand a siege. Lapierre had built a fort. 

"Excellent buildings; and solid as the Rock of Gibraltar, MissElliston, " smiled the quarter-breed, as with a wave of his hand heindicated the interior of the trading-room. 

"But, they are so big!" exclaimed the girl, as her glance swept thespacious fur lofts, and the ample areas for the storing of supplies. She was concerned only with the size of the buildings. But her wonderwould have increased could she have seen the rows of loopholes thatpierced the thick walls--loopholes crammed with moss against the cold, and with their openings concealed by cleverly fitted pieces of bark. Lapierre's smile deepened. 

"Remember, you told me you intend to sell to all alike, while yourgoods last. I know what that will mean. It will mean that you willfind yourself called upon to furnish the supplies for the inhabitantsof several thousand square miles of territory. Indians will travel farto obtain a bargain. They look only at the price--never at the qualityof the goods. That fact enables us free-traders to live. We sellcheaper than the H. B. C. ; but, frankly, our goods are cheaper. Thebargains are much more apparent than real. But, if I understand yourposition, you intend to sell goods that are up to H. B. C. Standard atactual cost?"

Chloe nodded: "Certainly. "

"Very well, then you will find that these buildings which look so largeand commodious to you now, must be crowded to the ceiling with yourgoods, while the walls of your fur lofts will fairly bulge with theirweight of riches. Fur is the 'cash' of the North, and the trader mustmake ample provision for its storage. There are no banks in thewilderness; and the fur lofts are the vaults of the traders. "

"But, I don't want to deal in fur!" objected the girl. "I--since youhave told me of the terrible cruelty of the trappers, I _hate fur_! Iwant nothing to do with it. In fact, I shall do everything in my powerto discountenance and discourage the trapping. " Lapierre cleared histhroat sharply--coughed--cleared it again. Discourage trapping--northof sixty! Had he heard aright? He swallowed hard, mumbled an apologyanent the inhalation of a gnat, and answered in all seriousness. 

"A worthy object, Miss Elliston--a very worthy object; but one thatwill require time to consummate. At present the taking of fur is thebusiness of the North. I may say, the only business of thousands ofsavages whose very existence depends upon their skill with the traps. Fur is their one source of livelihood. Therefore, you must accept thecondition as it exists. Think, if you refused to accept fur inexchange for your goods, what it would mean--the certain and absolutefailure of your school from the moment of its inception. The Indianscould not grasp your point of view. You would be shunned for onedemented. Your goods would rot upon your shelves; for the simplereason that the natives would have no means of buying them. No, MissElliston, you must take their fur until such time as you succeed indevising some other means by which these people may earn their living. "

"You are right, " agreed Chloe. "Of course, I must deal in fur--for thepresent. Reform is the result of years of labour. I must be patient. I was thinking only of the cruelty of it. "

"They have never been taught, " said Lapierre with a touch of sadness inhis tone. "And, while we are on the subject, allow me to advise you toretain LeFroy as your chief trader. He is an excellent man, is LouisLeFroy, and has had no little experience. "

"Do you think he will stay?" eagerly asked the girl. "I should like toretain, not only LeFroy but a half-dozen others. "

"It shall be as you wish. I shall speak to LeFroy and select also thepick of the crew. They will be glad of a steady job. The others Ishall take with me. I must gather my fur from its various _caches_ andfreight it to the railway. "

"You are going to the railway! To civilization?"

"Yes, but it will take me three weeks to make ready my outfit. And inthis connection I may be of further service to you. I must depart fromhere tonight. Instruct LeFroy to make out his list of supplies for thewinter. Give him a free hand and tell him to fill the store-rooms. The goods you have brought with you are by no means sufficient. Threeweeks from today, if I do not visit you in the meantime, have him meetme at Fort Resolution, and I shall be glad to make your purchases foryou, at Athabasca Landing and Edmonton. "

"You have been very good to me. How can I ever thank you?" cried thegirl, impulsively extending her hand. Lapierre took the hand, bowedover it, and--was it fancy, or did his lips brush her finger-tips?Chloe withdrew the hand, laughing in slight confusion. To her surpriseshe realized she was not in the least annoyed. "How can I thank you, "she repeated, "for--for throwing aside your own work to attend to mine?"

"Do not speak of thanking me. " Once more the man's eyes seemed to burninto her soul, "I love you! And one day my work will be your work andyour work will be mine. It is I who am indebted to you for bringing atouch of heaven into this drab hell of Northern brutishness. Forbringing to me a breath of the bright world I have not known sinceMontreal--and the student days, long past. And--ah--more thanthat--something I have never known--love. And, it is you who arebringing a ray of pure light to lighten the darkness of my people. "

Chloe was deeply touched. "But I--I thought, " she faltered, "when wewere discussing the buildings that day, you spoke as if you did notreally care for the Indians. And--and you made them work so hard----"

"To learn to work would be their salvation!" exclaimed the man. "And Ibeg you to forget what I said then. I feared for your safety. Whenyou refused to allow me to build the stockade, I could think only ofyour being at the mercy of Brute MacNair. I tried to frighten you intoallowing me to build it. Even now, if you say the word----"

Chloe interrupted him with a laugh. "No, I am not afraid ofMacNair--really I am not. And you have already neglected your ownaffairs too long. "

The man assented. "If I am to get my furs to the railway, do my owntrading, and yours, and return before the lake freezes, I must, indeed, be on my way. "

"You will wait while I write some letters? And you will post them forme?"

Lapierre bowed. "As many as you wish, " he said, and together theywalked to the girl's cabin whose quaint, rustic veranda overlooked theriver. The veranda was an addition of Lapierre's, and the cabin hadfive rooms, instead of three. 

The quarter-breed waited, whistling softly a light French air, whileChloe wrote her letters. He breathed deeply of the warm spruce-ladenbreeze, slapped lazily at mosquitoes, and gazed at the setting sunbetween half-closed lids. Pierre Lapierre was happy. 

"Things are coming my way, " he muttered. "With a year's stock in thatwarehouse--and LeFroy to handle it--I guess the Indians won't pick upmany bargains--my people!--damn them! How I hate them. And as forMacNair--lucky Vermilion thought of painting _his_ name on thatbooze--I hated to smash it--but it paid. It was the one thing neededto make me solid with _her_. And I've got time to run in another batchif I hurry--got to get those rifles into the loft, too. When MacNairhits, he hits hard. "

Chloe appeared at the door with her letters. Lapierre took them, andagain bowed low over her hand. This time the girl was sure his lipstouched her finger-tips. He released the hand and stepped to theground. 

"Good-bye, " he said, "I shall try my utmost to pay you a visit before Idepart for the southward, but if I fail, remember to send LeFroy to meat Fort Resolution. "

"I will remember. Good-bye--_bon voyage_----"

"_Et prompt retour?_" The man's lips smiled, and his eyes flashed thequestion. 

"_Et prompt retour--certainement!_" answered the girl as, with a widesweep of his hat, the quarter-breed turned and made his way toward thecamp of the Indians, which was located in a spruce thicket a shortdistance above the clearing. As he disappeared in the timber, Chloefelt a sudden sinking of the heart; a strange sense of desertion, ofloneliness possessed her as she gazed into the deepening shadows of thewall of the clearing. She fumed impatiently. 

"Why should I care?" she muttered, "I never laid eyes on him until twoweeks ago, and besides, he's--he's an _Indian_! And yet--he's agentleman. He has been very kind to me--very considerate. He is onlya quarter-Indian. Many of the very best families have Indian blood intheir veins--even boast of it. I--I'm a _fool_!" she exclaimed, andpassed quickly into the house. 

Pierre Lapierre was a man, able, shrewd, unscrupulous. The son of aFrench factor of the Hudson Bay Company and his half-breed wife, he wassent early to school, where he remained to complete his college course;for it was the desire of his father that the son should engage in someprofession for which his education fitted him. 

But the blood of the North was in his veins. The call of the Northlured him into the North, and he returned to the trading-post of hisfather, where he was given a position as clerk and later appointedtrader and assigned to a post of his own far to the northward. 

While the wilderness captivated and entranced him, the humdrum life ofa trader wearied him. He longed for excitement--action. 

During the several years of his service with the great fur company heassiduously studied conditions, storing up in his mind a fund ofinformation that later was to stand him in good stead. He studied thetrade, the Indians, the country. He studied the men of the Mounted, and smugglers, and whiskey-runners, and free-traders. And it was in abrush with these latter that he overstepped the bounds which, under thechanged conditions, even the agents of the great Company might not go. 

Chafing under the loss of trade by reason of an independent post thathad been built upon the shore of his lake some ten miles to thesouthward, his wild Metis blood called for action and, hastilysummoning a small band of Indians, he attacked the independents. Incidentally, the free-traders' post was burned, one of the traderskilled, and the other captured and sent upon the _longue traverse_. Insome unaccountable manner, after suffering untold hardships, the manwon through to civilization and promptly had Pierre Lapierre brought tobook. 

The Company stood loyally between its trader and the prison bars; butthe old order had changed in the Northland. Young Lapierre's actionwas condemned and he was dismissed from the Company's service with apayment of three years' unearned salary whereupon, he promptly turnedfree-trader, and his knowledge of the methods of the H. B. C. , theIndians, and the country, made largely for success. 

The life of the free-trader satisfied his longing for travel andadventure, which his life as a post-trader had not. But it did notsatisfy his innate craving for excitement. Therefore, he cast about toenlarge his field of activity. He became a whiskey-runner. Hisprofits increased enormously, and he gradually included smuggling inhis _répertoire_, and even timber thieving, and cattle-rustling uponthe ranges along the international boundary. 

At the time of his meeting with Chloe Elliston he was at the head of anorganized band of criminals whose range of endeavour extended overhundreds of thousands of square miles, and the diversity of whosecrimes was limited only by the index of the penal code. 

Pierre Lapierre was a Napoleon of organization--a born leader of men. He chose his liegemen shrewdly--outlaws, renegades, Indians, breeds, trappers, canoemen, scowmen, packers, claim-jumpers, gamblers, smugglers, cattle-rustlers, timber thieves--and these he dominated andruled absolutely. 

Without exception, these men feared him--his authority over them wasunquestioned. Because they had confidence in his judgment and cunning, and because under his direction they made more money, and made iteasier, and at infinitely less risk, than they ever made by playing alone hand, they accepted his domination cheerfully. And such was hisdisposition of the men who were the component parts of his system ofcriminal efficiency, that few, if any, were there among them who could, even if he so desired, have furnished evidence that would haveseriously incriminated the leader. 

The men who ran whiskey across the line, _cached_ it. Other men, unknown to them, disguised it as innocent freight and delivered it tothe scowmen. The scowmen turned it over to others who, for all theyknew, were bona fide settlers or free-traders; and from their _cache_, the canoemen carried it far into the wilderness and either stored it insome inaccessible rendezvous or _cached_ it where still others wouldcome and distribute it among the Indians. 

Each division undoubtedly suspected the others, but none but the leader_knew_. And, as it was with the whiskey-running, so was it with eachof his various undertakings. Religiously, Pierre Lapierre followed thescriptural injunction; "Let not thy left hand know what thy right handdoeth. " He confided in no man. And few, indeed, were the defectionsamong his retainers. A few had rebelled, as Vermilion hadrebelled--and with like result. The man dismissed from Lapierre'sservice entered no other. 

Moreover, he invariably contrived to implicate one whom he intended touse, in some crime of a graver nature than he would be called upon tocommit in the general run of his duties. This crime he would stage insome fastness where its detection by an officer of the Mounted wasexceedingly unlikely; and most commonly consisted in the murder of anIndian, whose weighted body would be lowered to the bottom of aconvenient lake or river. Lapierre witnesses would appear and the manwas irrevocably within the toil. Had he chosen, Pierre Lapierre couldhave lowered a grappling hook unerringly upon a dozen weightedskeletons. 

Over the head of the recruit now hung an easily proven charge ofmurder. If during his future activities as whiskey-runner, smuggler, or in whatever particular field of endeavour he was assigned, plansshould miscarry--an arrest be made--this man would take his prisonsentence in silence rather than seek to implicate Lapierre, who with aword could summon the witnesses that would swear the hemp about hisneck. 

The system worked. Now and again plans did miscarry--arrests were madeby the Mounted, men were caught "with the goods, " or arrested uponevidence that even Lapierre's intricate alibi scheme could not refute. But, upon conviction, the unlucky prisoner always accepted hissentence--for at his shoulder stalked a spectre, and in his heart wasthe fear lest the thin lips of Pierre Lapierre would speak. 

With such consummate skill and finesse _did_ Lapierre plot, however, and with such Machiavelian cunning and _éclat_ were his plans carriedout, that few failed. And those that did were credited by theauthorities to individual or sporadic acts, rather than to the work ofan intricate organization presided over by a master mind. 

The gang numbered, all told, upward of two hundred of the hardestcharacters upon the frontier. Only Lapierre knew its exact strength, but each member knew that if he did not "run straight"--if he, by wordor act or deed, sought to implicate an accomplice--his life would beworth just exactly the price of "the powder to blow him to hell. "

A few there were outside the organization who suspected PierreLapierre--but only a few: an officer or two of the Mounted and a fewfactors of the H. B. C. But these could prove nothing. They bided theirtime. One man _knew_ him for what he was. One, in all the North, aspowerful in his way as Lapierre was in his. The one man who had spiesin Lapierre's employ, and who did not fear him. The one man PierreLapierre feared--Bob MacNair. And he, too, bided his time. 

CHAPTER VIII

A SHOT IN THE NIGHT

As Lapierre made his way to the camp of the Indians he pondered deeply. For Lapierre was troubled. The fact that MacNair had twice come uponhim unexpectedly within the space of a month caused him grave concern. He did not know that it was entirely by chance that MacNair had foundhim, an unwelcome sojourner at Fort Rae. Accusations andrecriminations had passed between them, with the result that MacNair, rough, bluff, and ready to fight at any time, had pounded thequarter-breed to within an inch of his life, and then, to theundisguised delight of the men of the H. B. C. , had dragged him out andpitched him ignominiously into the lake. 

Either could have killed the other then and there. But each knew thatto have done so, as the result of a personal quarrel, would have beenthe worst move he could possibly have made. And the forebearance withwhich MacNair fought and Lapierre suffered was each man's measure ofgreatness. MacNair went about his business, and to Lapierre cameChenoine with his story of the girl and the plot of Vermilion, andLapierre, forgetting MacNair for the moment, made a dash for the SlaveRiver. 

For years Lapierre and MacNair had been at loggerheads. Eachrecognized in the other a foe of no mean ability. Each had sworn todrive the other out of the North. And each stood at the head of apowerful organization which could be depended upon to fight to the lastgasp when the time came to "lock horns" in the final issue. Bothleaders realized that the show-down could not be long delayed--a year, perhaps--two years--it would make no difference. The clash wasinevitable. Neither sought to dodge the crisis, nor did either seek tohasten it. But each knew that events were shaping themselves, thestage was set, and the drama of the wilds was wearing to its finalscene. 

From the moment of his meeting with Chloe Elliston, Lapierre hadrealized the value of an alliance with her against MacNair. And beinga man whose creed it was to turn every possible circumstance to his ownaccount, he set about to win her co-operation. When, during the courseof their first conversation, she casually mentioned that she couldcommand millions if she wanted them, his immediate interest in MacNaircooled appreciably--not that MacNair was to be forgotten--merely thathis undoing was to be deferred for a season, while he, the PierreLapierre once more of student days, played an old game--a game longforgot in the press of sterner life, but one at which he once excelled. 

"A game of hearts, " the man had smiled to himself--"a game in which therisk is nothing and the stakes---- With millions one may accomplishmuch in the wilderness, or retire into smug respectability--who knows?Or, losing, if worse comes to worst, a lady who can command millions, held prisoner, should be worth dickering for. Ah, yes, dear lady! Byall means, you shall be helped to Christianize the North! To educatethe Indians--how did she say it? 'So that they may come and receivethat which is theirs of right'--fah! These women!"

While the scows rushed northward his plans had been laid--plans thatincluded a masterstroke against MacNair and the placing of the girlabsolutely within his power in one move. And so Pierre Lapierre hadaccompanied Chloe to the mouth of the Yellow Knife, selected the sitefor her school, and generously remained upon the ground to direct theerection of her buildings. 

Up to that point his plans had carried with but two minor frustrations:he was disappointed in not having been allowed to build a stockade, andhe had been forced prematurely to show his hand to MacNair. The firstwas the mere accident of a woman's whim, and had been offset to a greatextent in the construction of the trading-post and store-house. 

The second, however, was of graver importance and deeper significance. While the girl's faith in him had, apparently, remained unshaken by herinterview with MacNair, MacNair himself would be on his guard. Lapierre ground his teeth with rage at the Scotchman's accuratecomprehension of the situation, and he feared that the man's wordsmight raise a suspicion in Chloe's mind; a fear that was in a greatmeasure allayed by her eager acceptance of his offer of assistance inthe matter of supplies, and--had he not already sown the seeds of adeeper regard? Once she had become his wife! The black eyes glitteredas the man threaded the trail toward the camp, where his own tentshowed white amid the smoke-blackened teepees of the Indians. 

The thing, however, that caused him the greatest uneasiness was thesuspicion that there was a leak in his system. How had MacNair knownthat he would be at Fort Rae? Why had he come down the Yellow Knife?And why had the two Indian scouts failed to report the man's coming?Only one of the Indians had returned at all, and his report that theother had been killed by one of MacNair's retainers had seemedunconvincing. However, Lapierre had accepted the story, but allthrough the days of the building he had secretly watched him. The manwas one of his trusted Indians--so was the one he reported killed. 

Upon the outskirts of the camp Lapierre halted--thinking. LeFroy hadalso watched--he must see LeFroy. Picking his way among the teepees, he advanced to his own tent. Groups of Indians and half-breeds, hunched about their fires, were eating supper. They eyed himrespectfully as he passed, and in response to a signal, LeFroy aroseand followed him to the tent. 

Once inside, Lapierre fixed his eyes upon the boss canoeman. 

"Well--you have watched Apaw--what have you found out?"

"Apaw--I'm t'ink she spik de trut'. "

"Speak the truth--_hell_! Why didn't he get down here ahead ofMacNair, then? What have I got spies for--to drag in after MacNair'sgone and tell me he's been here?"

LeFroy shrugged. "MacNair Injuns--dey com' pret' near catch Apaw--deykeel Stamix. Apaw, she got 'way by com' roun' by de Black Fox. "

Lapierre nodded, scowling. He trusted LeFroy; and having recognized inhim one as unscrupulous and nearly as resourceful and penetrating ashimself, had placed him in charge of the canoemen, the men who, in thewords of the leader, "kept cases on the North, " and to whose lot fellthe final distribution of the whiskey to the Indians. But so, also, had he trusted the boasting, flaunting Vermilion. 

"All right; but keep your eye on him, " he said, smiling sardonically, "and you may learn a lesson. Now you listen to me. You are to stayhere. Miss Elliston wants you for her chief trader. Make out yourlist of supplies--fill that storehouse up with stuff. She wants you toundersell the H. B. C. --and you do it. Get the trade in here--see? Keepyour prices down to just below Company prices, and then skin 'em on thefur--and--well, I don't need to tell you how. Give 'em plenty of debtand we'll fix the books. Pick put a half-dozen of your best men andkeep 'em here. Tell 'em to obey Miss Elliston's orders; and whateveryou do, keep cases on MacNair. But don't start anything. Pass theword out and fill up her school. Give her plenty to do, and keep 'emorderly. I'll handle the canoemen and pick up the fur, and then I'vegot to drop down the river and run in the supplies. I'll run in somerifles, and some of the _stuff_, too. "

LeFroy looked at his chief in surprise. 

"Vermilion--she got ten keg on de scow--" he began. 

Lapierre laughed. 

"Vermilion, eh? Do you know where Vermilion is?"

LeFroy shook his head. 

"He's in hell--that's where _he_ is--I dismissed him from my service. He didn't run straight. Some others went along with him--and there aremore to follow. Vermilion thought he could double-cross me and getaway with it. " And again he laughed. 

LeFroy shuddered and made no comment. Lapierre continued:

"Make out your list of supplies, and if I don't show up in the meantime, meet me at the mouth of the Slave three weeks from today. I'vegot to count days if I get back before the freeze-up. And rememberthis--you are working for Miss Elliston; we've got a big thing if wework it right; we've got MacNair where we want him at last. She thinkshe's running in whiskey and raising hell with the Indians north ofhere. Keep her thinking so; and later, when it comes to ashow-down--well, she is not only rich, but she's in good atOttawa--see?"

LeFroy nodded. He was a man of few words, was LeFroy; dour andtaciturn, but a man of brains and one who stood in wholesome fear ofhis master. 

"And now, " continued Lapierre, "break camp and load the canoes. I mustpull out tonight. Pick out your men and move 'em at once into thebarracks. You understand everything now?"

"_Oui_, " answered LeFroy, and stepping from the tent, passed swiftlyfrom fire to fire, issuing commands in low guttural. Lapierre rolled acigarette, and taking a guitar from its case, seated himself upon hisblankets and played with the hand of a master as he sang a love-song ofold France. All about him sounded the clatter of lodge-poles, the thudof packs, and the splashing of water as the big canoes were pushed intothe river and loaded. 

Presently LeFroy's head thrust in at the entrance. He spoke no word;Lapierre sang on, and the head was withdrawn. When the song wasfinished the sounds from the outside had ceased. Lapierre carefullyreplaced his guitar in its case, drew a heavy revolver from itsholster, threw it open, and twirled the cylinder with his thumb, examining carefully its chambers. His brows drew together and his lipstwisted into a diabolical smile. 

Lapierre was a man who took no chances. What was one Indian, more orless, beside the absolute integrity of his organization? He steppedoutside, and instantly the guy-ropes of the tent were loosened; thecanvas slouched to the ground and was folded into a neat pack. Theblankets were made into a compact roll, with the precious guitar in thecentre and deposited in the head canoe. Lapierre glanced swiftly abouthim; nothing but the dying fires and the abandoned lodge-polesindicated the existence of the camp. On the shore the canoemen, leaning on their paddles, awaited the word of command. 

He stepped to the water's edge, where, Apaw the Indian, stood with theothers. For just a moment the baleful eyes of Lapierre fixed thesilent figure; then his words cut sharply upon the silence. 

"Apaw--_Chahco yahkwa_!" The Indian advanced, evidently proud ofhaving been singled out by the chief, and stood before him, paddle inhand. Lapierre spoke no word; seconds passed, the silence grewintense. The hand that gripped the paddle shook suddenly; and then, looking straight into the man's eyes, Lapierre drew his revolver andfired. There was a quick spurt of red flame--the sound of the shotrang sharp, and rang again as the opposite bank of the river hurledback the sound. The Indian pitched heavily forward and fell across hispaddle, snapping it in two. 

Lapierre glanced over the impassive faces of the canoemen. 

"This man was a traitor, " he said in their own language. "I havedismissed him from my service. Weight him and shove off!"

The quarter-breed stepped into his canoe. The canoemen bound heavystones to the legs of the dead Indian, laid the body upon the campequipage amidship, and silently took their places. 

During the evening meal, Chloe was unusually silent, answering MissPenny's observations and queries in short, detached monosyllables. Later she stole out alone to a high, rocky headland that commanded asweeping view of the river, and sat with her back against the broadtrunk of a twisted banskian. 

The long Northern twilight hung about her like a pall--seemedenveloping, smothering her. No faintest breath of air stirred the pinyneedles above her, nor ruffled the surface of the river, whose blackwaters, far below, flowed broad and deep and silent--smoothly--like ariver of oil. Ominously hushed, secretive, it slipped out of themotionless dark. Silently portentous, it faded again into the dark, the mysterious half-dark, where the gradually deepening twilightblended the distance into the enshrouding pall of gloom. Involuntarilythe girl shuddered and started nervously at the splash of an otter. Abillion mosquitoes droned their unceasing monotone. The low sound waseverywhere--among the branches of the gnarled banskian, above thesurface of the river, and on and on and on, to whine thinly between thelittle stars. 

It was not at all the woman who would conquer a wilderness, thathuddled in a dejected little heap at the foot of the banskian; but avery miserable and depressed girl, who swallowed hard to keep down thegrowing lump in her throat, and bit her lip, and stared with wide eyestoward the southward. Hot tears--tears of bitter, heart-sickeningloneliness--filled her eyes and trickled unheeded down her cheeksbeneath the tightly drawn mosquito-net. 

Darkness deepened, imperceptibly, surely, fore-shortening the horizon, and by just so much increasing the distance that separated her from herpeople. 

"Poor fool moose-calf, " she murmured, "you weren't satisfied to followthe beaten trails. You had to find a land of your own--a land that----"

The whispered words trailed into silence, and to her mind's eyeappeared the face of the man who had spoken those words--the face ofBrute MacNair. She saw him as he stood that day and faced her amongthe freshly chopped stumps of the clearing. 

"He is rough and bearlike--boorish, " she thought, as she rememberedthat the man had not removed his hat in her presence. "He called menames. He is uncouth, cynical, egotistical. He thinks he can scare meinto leaving his Indians alone. " Her lips trembled and tightened. "Iam a woman, and I'll show him what a woman can do. He has lived amongthe Indians until he thinks he owns them. He is hard, and domineering, and uncompromising, and skeptical. And yet--" What gave her pause wasso intangible, so chaotic, in her own mind as to form itself into nodefinite idea. 

"He is brutish and brutal and bad!" she muttered aloud at the memory ofLapierre's battered face, and immediately fell to comparing the two men. 

Each seemed exactly what the other was not. Lapierre was handsome, debonair, easy of speech, and graceful of movement; deferential, earnest, at times even pensive, and the possessor of ideals; generousand accommodating to a fault, if a trifle cynical; maligned, hated, discredited by the men who ruled the North, yet brave and infinitelycapable--she remembered the swift fate of Vermilion. 

His was nothing of the rugged candour of MacNair--the bluffstraightforwardness that overrides opposition; ignores criticism. MacNair fitted the North--the big, brutal, insatiate North--the Northof storms, of cold and fighting things; of foaming, roaring white-waterand seething, blinding blizzards. 

Chloe's glance strayed out over the river, where the farther bankshowed only the serried sky-line of a wall of jet. 

Lapierre was also of the North--the North as it is tonight; soft air, balmy with the incense of growing things; illusive dark, halfconcealing, half revealing, blurring distant outlines. A placid North, whose black waters flowed silent, smooth, deep. A benign and harmlessNorth, upon its surface; and yet, withal, portentous of things unknown. 

The girl shuddered and arose to her feet, and, as she did so, from upthe river--from the direction of the Indian camp--came the sharp, quicksound of a shot. Then silence--a silence that seemed unending to thegirl who waited breathlessly, one hand grasping the rough bark of thegnarled tree, and the other shading her eyes as thought to aid them intheir effort to pierce the gloom. 

A long time she stood thus, peering into the dark, and then, anindistinct form clove the black water of the river, and a long bodyslipped noiselessly toward her, followed by another, and another. 

"The canoes!" she cried, as she watched the sparkling starlight playupon the long Y-shaped ripples that rolled back from their bows. 

Once more the sense of loneliness almost overcame her. Pierre Lapierrewas going out of the North. 

She could see the figures of the paddlers, now--blurred, andindistinct, and unrecognizable--distinguishable more by the spaces thatshowed between them, than by their own outlines. 

They were almost beneath her. Should she call out? One last _bonvoyage_? The sound of a voice floated upward; a hard, rasping voice, unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar. In the leading canoe the Indiansceased paddling. The canoe lost momentum and drifted broadside to thecurrent. The men were lifting something; something long and dark. There was a muffled splash, and the dark object disappeared. Thecanoemen picked up their paddles, and the canoe swung into its courseand disappeared around a point. The other canoes followed; and theriver rolled on as before--black--oily--sinister. 

A broad cloud, pall-like, threatening, which had mounted unnoticed bythe girl, blotted out the light of the stars, as if to hide from alieneyes some unlovely secret of the wilds. 

The darkness was real, now; and Chloe, in a sudden panic of terror, dashed wildly for the clearing--stumbling--crashing through the bush asshe ran; her way lighted at intervals by flashes of distant lightning. She paused upon the verge of the bank at the point where it entered theclearing; at the point where the wilderness crowded menacingly herlittle outpost of civilization. Panting, she stood and stared out overthe smooth flowing, immutable river. 

A lightning flash, nearer and more vivid than any preceding, lightedfor an instant the whole landscape. Then, the mighty crash of thunder, and the long, hoarse moan of wind, and in the midst of it, that othersound--the horrible sound that once before had sent her dashingbreathless from the night--the demoniacal, mocking laugh of the greatloon. 

With a low, choking sob, the girl fled toward the little square oflight that glowed from the window of her cabin. 

CHAPTER IX

ON SNARE LAKE

When Bob MacNair left Chloe Elliston's camp, he swung around by the wayof Mackay Lake, a detour that required two weeks' time and addedimmeasurably to the discomfort of the journey. Day by day, upon lake, river, and portage, Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack wondered much athis silence and the unwonted hardness of his features. 

These two Indians knew MacNair. For ten years, day and night, they hadstood at his beck and call; had followed him through all the vastwilderness that lies between the railways and the frozen sea. They hadslept with him, had feasted and starved with him, at his shoulder faceddeath in a hundred guises, and they loved him as men love their God. They had followed him during the lean years when, contrary to thewishes of his father, the stern-eyed factor at Fort Norman, he hadrefused the offers of the company and devoted his time, winter andsummer, to the exploration of rivers and lakes, rock ridges andmountains, and the tundra that lay between, in search of the lostcopper mines of the Indians; the mines that lured Hearne into the Northin 1771, and which Hearne forgot in the discovery of a fur empire sovast as to stagger belief. 

But, as the canoe forged northward, Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarackheld their peace, and when they arrived at the fort, MacNair growled anorder, and sought his cabin beside the wall of the stockade. 

A half hour later, when the Indians had gathered in response to thehurried word of Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack, MacNair stepped fromhis cabin and addressed them in their own language, or rather in thejargon--the compromise language of the North--by means of which theminds of white men and Indians meet on common ground. He warned themagainst Pierre Lapierre, the _kultus_ breed of whom most of themalready knew, and he told them of the girl and her school at the mouthof the Yellow Knife. And then, in no uncertain terms, he commandedthem to have nothing whatever to do with the school, nor with Lapierre. Whereupon, Sotenah, a leader among the young men, arose, and after along and flowery harangue in which he lauded and extolled the wisdom ofMacNair and the benefits and advantages that accrued to the Indians byreason of his patronage, vociferously counselled a summary descent uponthe fort of the _Mesahchee Kloochman_. 

The proclamation was received with loud acclaim, and it was with nolittle difficulty that MacNair succeeded in quieting the turbulence andrestoring order. After which he rebuked Sotenah severely and laidthreat upon the Indians that if so much as a hair of the white_kloochman_ was harmed he would kill, with his own hand, the man whowrought the harm. 

As for Pierre Lapierre and his band, they must be crushed and drivenout of the land of the lakes and the rivers, but the time was not yet. He, MacNair, would tell them when to strike, and only if Lapierre'sIndians were found prowling about the vicinity of Snare Lake were theyto be molested. 

The Indians dispersed and, slinging a rifle over his shoulder, MacNairswung off alone into the bush. 

Bob MacNair knew the North; knew its lakes and its rivers, its forestsand its treeless barrens. He knew its hardships, dangers andlimitations, and he knew its gentler moods, its compensations, and itspossibilities. Also, he knew its people, its savage primitive childrenwho call it home, and its invaders--good and bad, and worse than bad. The men who infest the last frontier, pushing always northward forbarter, or for the saving of souls. 

He understood Pierre Lapierre, his motives and his methods. But thegirl he did not understand, and her presence on the Yellow Knifedisturbed him not a little. Had chance thrown her into the clutches ofLapierre? And had the man set about deliberately to use her school asan excuse for the establishment of a trading-post within easy reach ofhis Indians? MacNair was inclined to believe so--and the matter causedhim grave concern. He foresaw trouble ahead, and a trouble that mighteasily involve the girl who, he felt, was entirely innocent ofwrongdoing. 

His jaw clamped hard as he swung on and on through the scrub. He hadno particular objective, a problem faced him and, where other men wouldhave sat down to work its solution, he walked. 

In many things was Bob MacNair different from other men. Just andstern beyond his years, with a sternness that was firmness rather thanseverity; slow to anger, but once his anger was fairly aroused terriblein meting out his vengeance. Yet, withal, possessed of anunderstanding and a depth of sympathy, entirely unsuspected by himself, but which enshrined him in the hearts of his Indians, who, in all theworld were the men and women who knew him. 

Even his own father had not understood this son, who devoured books asravenously as his dogs devoured salmon. Again and again heremonstrated with him for wasting his time when he might be working forthe company. Always the younger man listened respectfully, andcontinued to read his books and to search for the lost mines with adetermination and singleness of purpose that aroused the secretapprobation of the old Scotchman, and the covert sneers and scoffingsof others. 

And then, after four years of fruitless search, at the base of a ridgethat skirted the shore of an unmapped lake, he uncovered the mouth ofan ancient tunnel with rough-hewn sides and a floor that sloped fromthe entrance. Imbedded in the slime on the bottom of a pool ofstinking water, he found curious implements, rudely chipped from flintand slate, and a few of bone and walrus ivory. Odd-shaped, half-finished tools of hammered copper were strewn about the floor, andthe walls were thickly coated with verdigris. Instead of the sharpring of steel on stone, a dull thud followed the stroke of his pick, and its scars glowed with a red lustre in the flare of the smokingtorches. 

Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack looked on in stolid silence, while theyoung man, with wildly beating heart, crammed a pack-sack with samples. He had found the ancient mine--the lost mine of the Indians, which mensaid existed only in the fancy of Bob MacNair's brain! Carefullysealing the tunnel, the young man headed for Fort Norman; and never didOld Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack face such a trail. Down the ragingtorrent of the Coppermine, across the long portage to the Dismal Lakes, and then by portage and river to Dease Bay, across the two hundredmiles of Great Bear Lake, and down the Bear River to their destination. 

Seven hundred long miles they covered, at a man-killing pace thatbrought them into the fort, hollow-eyed and gaunt, and with theirbodies swollen and raw from the sting of black flies and mosquitoesthat swarmed through the holes in their tattered garments. 

The men wolfed down the food that was set before them by an Indianwoman, and then, while Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack slept, thechief trader led Bob MacNair to the grave of his father. 

"'Twas his heart, lad, or somethin' busted inside him, " explained theold man. "After supper it was, two weeks agone. He was sittin' i' hischair wi' his book an' his pipe, an' me in anither beside him. He gi'a deep sigh, like, an' his book fell to the ground and his pipe. WhenI got to him his head was leant back ag'in his chair--and he was dead. "

Bob MacNair nodded, and the chief trader returned to the store, leavingthe young man standing silent beside the fresh-turned mound with itsrudely fashioned wooden cross, that stood among the other grass-grownmounds whose wooden crosses, with their burned inscriptions, wereweather-grey and old. For a long time he stood beside the littlecrosses that lent a solemn dignity to the rugged heights of Fort Norman. 

It cannot be said that Bob MacNair had loved his father, in thegenerally accepted sense of the word. But he had admired and respectedhim above all other men, and his first thought upon the discovery ofthe lost mine was to vindicate his course in the eyes of this stern, just man who had so strongly advised against it. 

For the opinion of others he cared not the snap of his fingers. But, to read approval in the deep-set eyes of his father, and to hear thedeep, rich voice of him raised, at last, in approbation, rather thanreproach, he had defied death and pushed himself and his Indians to thelimit of human endurance. And he had arrived too late. The bitternessof the young man's soul found expression only in a hardening of the jawand a clenching of the mighty fists. For, in the heart of him, he knewthat in the future, no matter what the measure of the world might be, always, deep within him would rankle the bitter disappointment--therealization that this old man had gone to his grave believing that hisson was a fool and a wastrel. 

Slowly he turned from the spot and, with heavy steps, entered thepost-store. He raised the pack that contained the samples from thefloor, and, walking to the verge of the high cliff that overlooked theriver, hurled it far out over the water, where it fell with a dullsplash that was drowned in the roar of the rapids. 

"Ye'll tak' charge here the noo, laddie?" asked McTurk, the grizzledchief trader, the following day when MacNair had concluded theinspection of his father's papers. "'Twad be what _he'd_ ha'counselled!"

"No, " answered the young man shortly, and, without a word as to thefinding of the lost mine, hurried Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack intoa canoe and headed southward. 

A month later the officers of the Hudson Bay Company in Winnipeg gaspedin surprise at the offer of young MacNair to trade the broad acres towhich his father had acquired title in the wheat belt of Saskatchewanand Alberta for a vast tract of barren ground in the subarctic. Theytraded gladly, and when the young man heard that his dicker had earnedfor him the name of Fool MacNair in the conclave of the mighty, hesmiled--and bought more barrens. 

All of which had happened eight years before Chloe Elliston defied himamong the stumps of her clearing, and in the interim much hadtranspired. In the heart of his barrens he built a post and collectedabout him a band of Indians who soon learned that those who worked inthe mines had a far greater number of brass tokens of "made beaver" totheir credit than those who trapped fur. 

Those were hard years for Bob MacNair; years in which he worked day andnight with his Indians, and paid them, for the most part, in promises. But always he fed them and clothed them and their women and children, although to do so stretched his credit to the limit--raised thelimit--and raised it again. 

He uncovered vast deposits of copper, only to realize that, until hecould devise a cheaper method of transportation, the metal might aswell have remained where the forgotten miners had left it. And it waswhile he was at work upon his transportation problem that the shovelsof his Indians began to throw out golden grains from the bed of aburied creek. 

When the news of gold reached the river, there was a stampede. ButMacNair owned the land and his Indians were armed. There was a short, sharp battle, and the stampeders returned to the rivers to nurse theirgrievance and curse Brute MacNair. 

He paid his debt to the Company and settled with his Indians, whosuddenly found themselves rich. And then Bob MacNair learned a lessonwhich he never forgot--his Indians could not stand prosperity. Most ofthose who had stood by him all through the lean years when he hadprovided them only a bare existence, took their newly acquired wealthand departed for the white man's country. Some returned--broken husksof the men who departed. Many would never return, and for theirundoing MacNair reproached himself unsparingly, the while he devised aneconomic system of his own, and mined his gold and worked out histransportation problem upon a more elaborate scale. The harm had beendone, however; his Indians were known to be rich, and MacNair found hiscolony had become the cynosure of the eyes of the whiskey-runners, thechiefest among whom was Pierre Lapierre. It was among these men thatthe name of Brute, first used by the beaten stampeders, came intogeneral use--a fitting name, from their viewpoint--for when one of themchanced to fall into his hands, his moments became at once fraught withtribulation. 

And so MacNair had become a power in the Northland, respected by theofficers of the Hudson Bay Company, a friend of the Indians, and aterror to those who looked upon the red man as their natural prey. 

Step by step, the events that had been the milestones of this man'slife recurred to his mind as he tramped tirelessly through the scrubgrowth of the barrens toward a spot upon the shore of the lake--theonly grass plot within a radius of five hundred miles. Throwinghimself down beside a low, sodded mound in the centre of the plot, heidly watched the great flocks of water fowls disport themselves uponthe surface of the lake. 

How long he lay there, he had no means of knowing, when suddenly hisears detected the soft swish of paddles. He leaped to his feet and, peering toward the water, saw, close to the shore, a canoe manned byfour stalwart paddlers. He looked closer, scarcely able to credit hiseyes. And at the same moment, in response to a low-voiced order, thecanoe swung abruptly shoreward and grated upon the shingle of thebeach. Two figures stepped out, and Chloe Elliston, followed by BigLena, advanced boldly toward him. MacNair's jaw closed with a snap asthe girl approached smiling. For in the smile was no hint offriendliness--only defiance, not unmingled with contempt. 

"You see, Mr. Brute MacNair, " she said, "I have kept my word. I toldyou I would invade your kingdom--and here I am. "

MacNair did not reply, but stood leaning upon his rifle. His attitudeangered her. 

"Well, " she said, "what are you going to do about it?" Still the mandid not answer, and, stooping, plucked a tiny weed from among theblades of grass. The girl's eyes followed his movements. She startedand looked searchingly into his face. For the first time she noticedthat the mound was a grave. 

CHAPTER X

AN INTERVIEW

"Oh, forgive me!" Chloe cried, "I--I did not know that I was intrudingupon--sacred ground!" There was real concern in her voice, and thelines of Bob MacNair's face softened. 

"It is no matter, " he said. "She who sleeps here will not bedisturbed. "

The unlooked for gentleness of the man's tone, the simple dignity ofhis words, went straight to Chloe Elliston's heart. She felt suddenlyashamed of her air of flippant defiance, felt mean, and small, andself-conscious. She forgot for the moment that this big, quiet man whostood before her was rough, even boorish in his manner, and that he wasthe oppressor and debaucher of Indians. 

"A--a woman's grave?" faltered the girl. 

"My mother's. "

"Did _she_ live here, on Snare Lake?" Chloe asked in surprise, as herglance swept the barren cliffs of its shore. 

MacNair answered with the same softness of tone that somehow dispelledall thought of his uncouthness. "No. She lived at Fort Norman, overon the Mackenzie--that is, she died there. Her home, I think, was inthe Southland. My father used to tell me how she feared theNorth---its snows and bitter cold, its roaring, foaming rivers, itswild, fierce storms, and its wind-lashed lakes. She hated its ruggedcliffs and hills, its treeless barrens and its mean, scrubby timber. She loved the warm, long summers, and the cities and people, and--" hepaused, knitting his brows--"and whatever there is to love in your landof civilization. But she loved my father more than these--more thanshe feared the North. My father was the factor at Fort Norman, so shestayed in the North--and the North killed her. To live in the North, one must love the North. She died calling for the green grass of herSouthland. "

He ceased speaking and unconsciously stooped and plucked a few spearsof grass which he held in his palm and examined intently. 

"Why should one die calling for the sight of grass?" he asked abruptly, gazing into Chloe's eyes with a puzzled look. 

The girl gazed directly, searchingly into MacNair's eyes. The naivefrankness of him--his utter simplicity--astounded her. 

"Oh!" she cried, impulsively stepping forward. "It wasn't the_grass_--it was--oh! _can't_ you _see_?" The man regarded herwonderingly and shook his head. 

"No, " he answered gravely. "I can not see. "

"It was--everything! Life--friends--home! The grass was only thesymbol--the tangible emblem that stood for life!" MacNair nodded, but, by the look in his eye, Chloe knew that he did not understand and thatpride and a certain natural reserve sealed his lips from furtherquestioning. 

"It is far to the Mackenzie, " ventured the girl. 

"Aye, far. After my father died I brought her here. "

"You! Brought her here!" she exclaimed, staring in surprise into thestrong emotionless face. 

The man nodded slowly. "In the winter it was--and I camealone--dragging her body upon a sled----"

"But why----"

"Because I think she would have wished it so. If one hated the wild, rugged cliffs and the rock-tossed rapids, would one wish to lie upon acliff with the rapids roaring, for ever and ever? I do not think that, so I brought her here--away from the grey hills and the ceaseless roarof the rapids. "

"But the grass?"

"I brought that from the Southland. I failed many times before I founda kind that would grow. It is little I can do for her, and she doesnot know, but, somehow, it has made me feel--easier--I cannot tell youexactly. I come here often. "

"I think she _does_ know, " said Chloe softly, and brushed hot tearsfrom her eyes. Could _this_ be the man whose crimes against the poor, ignorant savages were the common knowledge of the North? Could this behe whom men called Brute--this simple-spoken, straightforward, boyishman who had endured hardships and spared no effort, that the mother hehad never known might lie in her eternal rest beneath the green sod ofher native land, far from the sights, and sounds that, in life, hadbecome a torture to her soul, and worn her, at last, to the grave?

"Mr. --MacNair. " The hard note--the note of uncompromisingantagonism--had gone from her voice, and the man looked at her insurprise. It was the first time she had addressed him withoutprefixing the name Brute and emphasizing the prefix. He stood, regarding her calmly, waiting for her to proceed. Somehow, Chloe foundthat it had become very difficult for her to speak; to say the thingsto this man that she had intended to say. "I cannot understandyou--your viewpoint. "

"Why should you try? I ask no one to understand me. I care not whatpeople think. "

"About the Indians, I mean----"

"The Indians? What do you know of my viewpoint in regard to theIndians?" The man's face had hardened at her mention of the Indians. 

"I know this!" exclaimed the girl. "That you are trading them whiskey!With my own eyes I saw Mr. Lapierre smash your kegs--the kegs that werecunningly disguised as bales of freight and marked with your name, andI saw the whiskey spilled out upon the ground. "

She paused, expecting a denial, but MacNair remained silent and againshe saw the peculiar twinkle in his eye as he waited for her toproceed. "And I--you, yourself told me that you would kill some of Mr. Lapierre's Indians! Do you call that justice--to kill men because theyhappen to be in the employ of a rival trader--one who has as much rightto trade in the Northland as you have?"

Again she paused, but the man ignored her question. 

"Go on, " he said shortly. 

"And you told me your Indians had to work so hard they had no time forbook-learning, and that the souls of the Indians were black as--ashell. "

"And I told you, also, that I have never owned any whiskey. Why do youbelieve me in some things and not in others? It would seem moreconsistent, Miss Chloe Elliston, for you either to believe or todisbelieve me. "

"But, I _saw_ the whiskey. And as for what you, yourself, told me--aman will scarcely make himself out worse than he is. "

"At least, I can scarcely make myself out worse than you believe me tobe. " The twinkle was gone from MacNair's eyes now, and he spoke moregruffly. "Of what use is all this talk? You are firmly convinced ofmy character. Your opinion of me concerns me not at all. Even if Iwere to attempt to make my position clear to you, you would not believeanything I should tell you. "

"What defence can there be to conduct such as yours?"

"Defence! Do you imagine I would stoop to defend my conduct to_you_--to one who is, either wittingly or unwittingly, hand in glovewith Pierre Lapierre?"

The unconcealed scorn of the man's words stung Chloe to the quick. 

"Pierre Lapierre is a man!" she cried with flashing eyes. "He isneither afraid nor ashamed to declare his principles. He is the friendof the Indians--and God knows they need a friend--living as they do bysufferance of such men as you, and the men of the Hudson Bay Company!"

"You believe that, I think, " MacNair said quietly. "I wonder if youare really such a fool, or do you know Lapierre for what he is?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the girl, her face flushed. "I _do_ know him for whathe is! He is a _man_! He knows the North. I am learning the North, and together we will drive you and your kind out of the North. "

"You cannot do that, " he said. "Lapierre, I will crush as I wouldcrush a snake. I bear you no ill will. As you say, you will learn theNorth--for you will remain in the North. I told you once that youwould soon tire of your experiment, but I was wrong. Your eyes are theeyes of a fighting man. "

"Thank you, Mr. --MacNair----"

"Why not Brute MacNair?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, " she said. "Not that--not after--I think Ishall call you Bob MacNair. "

The man looked perplexed. "Women are not like men, " he said, simply. "I do not understand you at times. Tell me--why did you come into theNorth?"

"I thought I had made that plain. I came to bring education to theIndians. To do what I can to lighten their burden and to make itpossible for them to compete with the white man on the white man'sterms when this country shall bow before the inevitable advance ofcivilization; when it has ceased to be the land beyond the outposts. "

"We are working together then, " answered, MacNair. "When you havelearned the North we shall be--friends. "

"Never! I----"

"Because you will have learned, " he continued, ignoring her protest, "that education is the last thing the Indians need. If you can makebetter trappers and hunters of them; teach them to work in mines, timber, on the rivers, you will come nearer to solving their problemthan by giving them all the education in the world. No, Miss ChloeElliston, they can't play the white man's game--with the white man'schips. "

"But they can! In the States we----"

"Why didn't you stay in the States?"

"Because the government looks after the education of theIndians--provides schools and universities, and----"

"And what do they turn out?"

"They turn out lawyers and doctors and engineers and ministers of thegospel, and educated men in all walks of life. We have Indians inCongress!"

"How many? And how many are lawyers and doctors and engineers andministers of the gospel? And how many can truthfully be said to be'educated men in all walks of life'? A mere handful! Where onesucceeds, a hundred fail! And the others return to their reservation, dissolute, dissatisfied, to live on the bounty of your government; you, yourself, will admit that when an Indian does rise into a professionfor which his education has fitted him, he is an object of wonder--aman to be written about in your newspapers and talked about in yourhomes. And then your sentimentalists--your fools--hold him up as atype! Not your educated Indians are reaping the benefit of yourgovernment's belated attention, but those who are following the callingfor which nature has fitted them--stock-raising and small farming ontheir allotted reservations. The educated ones know that thegovernment will feed and clothe them--why should they exert themselves?

"Here in the North, because the Indians have been dealt with sanely, and not herded onto restricted reservations, and subjected to theexperiments of departmental fools well-intentioned--and otherwise--theyare infinitely better off. They are free to roam the woods, to huntand to trap and to fish, and they are contented. They remain at theposts only long enough to do their trading, and return again to thewilds. For the most part they are truthful and sober and honest. Theycan obtain sufficient clothing and enough to eat. The lakes and therivers teem with fish, and the woods and the barrens abound with game, "Contrast these with the Indians who have come more intimately intocontact with the whites. You can see them hanging about the depots andthe grogeries and rum shops of the railway towns, degenerate, diseased, reduced to beggary and petty thievery. And you do not have to go tothe railway towns to see the effect of your civilization upon them. Follow the great trade rivers! From source to mouth, their banks arelined with the Indians who have come into contact with yourcivilization!

"Go to any mission centre! Do you find that the Indian has takenkindly to the doctrines it teaches? Do you find them happy, God-fearing Indians who embraced Christianity and are living in accordwith its precepts? You do not! Except in a very few isolated cases, like your lawyers and doctors of the states, you will find at the verygates of the missions, be their denomination what they may, debaucheryand rascality in its most vicious forms. Read your answer there in thevice-marked, ragged, emaciated hangers-on of the missions. 

"I do not say that this harm is wrought wilfully--on the contrary, Iknow it is not. They are noble and well-meaning men and women whocarry the gospel into the North. Many of them I know and respect andadmire--Father Desplaines, Father Crossett, the good Father O'Reiley, and Duncan Fitzgilbert, of my mother's faith. These men are good men;noble men, and the true friends of the Indians; in health and insickness, in plague, famine, and adversity these men shoulder the redman's burden, feed, clothe, and doctor him, and nurse him back tohealth--or bury him. With these I have no quarrel, nor with thereligion they teach--in its theory. It is not bad. It is good. Thesemen are my friends. They visit me, and are welcome whenever they come. 

"Each of these has begged me to allow him to establish a mission amongmy Indians. And my answer is always the same--'_No!_' And I point tothe mission centres already established. It is then they tell me thatthe deplorable condition exists, not because of the mission, but_despite_ it. " He paused with a gesture of impatience. "_Because_!_Despite_! A quibble of words! If the _fact_ remains, what differencedoes it make whether it is _because_ or _despite_? It must be a greatcomfort to the unfortunate one who is degraded, diseased, damned, toknow that his degradation, disease, and damnation, were wrought not_because_, but _despite_. I think God laughs--even as he pities. But, in spite of all they can do, the _fact_ remains. I do not ask you tobelieve me. Go and see it with your own eyes, and then if you _dare_, come back and establish another plague spot in God's own wilderness. The Indian rapidly acquires all the white man's vices--and but few ofhis virtues. 

"Stop and think what it means to experiment with the future of apeople. To overthrow their traditions: to confute their beliefs andsuperstitions, and to subvert their gods! And what do you offer themin return? Other traditions; other beliefs; another God--andeducation! Do you dare to assume the responsibility? Do you dare toimplant in the minds of these people an education--a culture--that willrender them for ever dissatisfied with their lot, and send many of themto the land of the white man to engage in a feeble and hopelessstruggle after that which is, for them, unattainable?"

"But it is _not_ unattainable! They----"

"I know your sophisms; your fabrication of theory!" MacNairinterrupted her almost fiercely. "The _facts_! I have seen therum-sodden wrecks, the debauched and soul-warped men and women who hangabout your frontier towns, diseased in body and mind, and whosegreatest misfortune is that they live. These, Miss Chloe Elliston, arethe real monuments to your education. Do you dare to drive one hundredto certain degradation that is worse than fiery hell, that you maypoint with pride to one who shall attain to the white man's standard ofsuccess?"

"That is not the truth! I do not believe it! I _will_ not believe it!"

The steel-grey eyes of the man bored deep into the shining eyes ofbrown. "I know that you do not believe it. But you are wrong when yousay that you _will_ not believe it. You are honest and unafraid, and, therefore, you will learn, and now, one thing further. 

"We will say that you succeed in keeping your school, or post, ormission, from this condition of debauchery--which you will not. Whatthen? Suppose you educate your Indians? There are no employers in theNorth. None who buy education. The men who pay out money in the wasteplaces pay it for bone and brawn, not for brains; they have brains--orsomething that answers the purpose--therefore, your educated Indianmust do one of two things--he must go where he can use his education orhe must remain where he is. In either event he will be the loser. Ifhe seeks the land of the white man, he must compete with the white manon the white man's terms. He cannot do it. If he stays here in theNorth he must continue to hunt, or trap, or work on the river, or inthe mines, or the timber, and he is ever afterward dissatisfied withhis lot. More, he has wasted the time he spent in filling his brainwith useless knowledge. "

MacNair spoke rapidly and earnestly, and Chloe realized that he spokefrom his heart and also that he spoke from a certain knowledge of hissubject. She was at a loss for a reply. She could not dispute him, for he had told her not to believe him; to go see for herself. She didnot believe MacNair, but in spite of herself she was impressed. 

"The missionaries _are_ doing good! Their reports show----"

"Their reports show! Of course their reports show! Why shouldn'tthey? Where do their reports go? To the people who pay them theirsalaries! Do not understand me to say that in all cases these reportsare falsely made. They are not--that is, they are literally true. Amission reports so many converts to Christianity during a certainperiod of time. Well and good; the converts are there--they canproduce them. The Indians are not fools. If the white men want themto profess Christianity, why they will profess Christianity--orHinduism or Mohammedanism. They will worship any god the white mansuggests--for a fancy waistcoat or a piece of salt pork. The white mangives many gifts of clothing, and sometimes of food--to his converts. Therefore, he shall not want for converts--while the clothing holdsout!"

"And _your_ Indians? Have they not suffered from their contact withyou?"

"No. They have not suffered. I know them, their needs andrequirements, and their virtues and failings. And they know me. "

"Where is your fort?"

"Some distance above here on the shore of this lake. "

"Will you take me there? Show me these Indians, that I may see formyself that you have spoken the truth?"

"No. I told you you were to have nothing to do with my Indians. Ialso warned my Indians against you--and your partner Lapierre. Icannot warn them against you and then take you among them. "

"Very well. I shall go myself, then. I came up here to see your fortand the condition of your Indians. You knew I would come. "

"No. I did not know that. I had not seen the fighting spirit in youreyes then. Now I know that you will come--but not while I am here. And when you do come you will be taken back to your own school. Youwill not be harmed, for you are honest in your purpose. But you will, nevertheless, be prevented from coming into contact with my Indians. Iwill have none of Lapierre's spies hanging about, to the injury of mypeople. "

"Lapierre's spies! Do you think I am a spy? Lapierre's?"

"Not consciously, perhaps--but a spy, nevertheless. Lapierre may evennow be lurking near for the furtherance of some evil design. "

Chloe suddenly realized that MacNair's boring, steel-grey eyes werefixed upon her with a new intentness--as if to probe into the verythoughts of her brain. 

"Mr. Lapierre is far to the Southward, " she said--and then, upon theedge of the tiny clearing, a twig snapped. The man whirled, his riflejerked into position, there was a loud report, and Bob MacNair sankslowly down upon the grass mound that was his mother's grave. 

CHAPTER XI

BACK ON THE YELLOW KNIFE

The whole affair had been so sudden that Chloe scarcely realized whathad happened before a man stepped quickly into the clearing, at thesame time slipping a revolver into its holster. The girl gazed at himin amazement. It was Pierre Lapierre. He stepped forward, hat inhand. Chloe glanced swiftly from the dark, handsome features to theface of the man on the ground. The grey eyes opened for a second, andthen closed; but in that brief, fleeting glance the girl read distrust, contempt, and silent reproach. The man's lips moved, but no soundcame--and with a laboured, fluttering sigh, he sank intounconsciousness. 

"Once more, it seems, my dear Miss Elliston, I have arrived just intime. "

A sudden repulsion for this cruel, suave killer of men flashed into thegirl's brain. "Get some water, " she cried, and dropping to her kneesbegan to unbutton MacNair's flannel shirt. 

"But--" objected Lapierre. 

"Will you get some water? This is no time to argue! You can explainlater!" Lapierre turned and without a word, walked to the lake and, taking a pail from the canoe, filled it with water. When he returned, Chloe was tearing white bandages from a garment essentially feminine, while Big Lena endeavoured to stanch the flow of blood from a smallwound high on the man's left breast, and another, more ragged woundwhere the bullet had torn through the thick muscles of his back. 

The two women worked swiftly and capably, while Lapierre waited, frowning. 

"Better hurry, Miss Elliston, " he said, when the last of the bandageswas in place. "This is no place for us to be found if some ofMacNair's Indians happen along. Your canoe is ready. Mine is fartherdown the lake. "

"But, this man--surely----"

"Leave him there. You have done all you can do for him. His Indianswill find him. "

"What!" cried Chloe. "Leave a wounded man to die in the bush!"

Lapierre stepped closer. "What would you do ?" he asked. "Surely youcannot remain here. His Indians would kill you as they would kill a_carcajo_. " The man's face softened. "It is the way of the North, " hesaid sadly. "I would gladly have spared him--even though he is myenemy. But when he whirled with his rifle upon my heart, his fingerupon the trigger, and murder in his eye, I had no alternative. It washis life or mine. I am glad I did not kill him. " The words and thetone reassured Chloe, and when she answered, it was to speak calmly. 

"We will take him with us, " she said. "The Indians could not care forhim properly even if they found him. At home I have everythingnecessary for the handling of just such cases. "

"But, my dear Miss Elliston--think of the portages and the addedburden. His Indians----"

The girl interrupted him--"I am not asking you to help. I have a canoehere. If you are afraid of MacNair's Indians you need not remain. "

The note of scorn in the girl's voice was not lost upon Lapierre. Heflushed and answered with the quiet dignity that well became him: "Icame here, Miss Elliston, with only three canoemen. I returnedunexpectedly to your school, and when I learned that you had gone toSnare Lake, I followed--to save you, if possible, from the hand of theBrute. "

Chloe interrupted him. "You came here for that?"

The man bowed low. "Knowing what you do of Brute MacNair, and of hishatred of me, you surely do not believe I came here for business--orpleasure. " He drew closer, his black eyes glowing with suppressedpassion. "There is one thing a man values more than life--the life andthe safety of the woman he loves!"

Chloe's eyes dropped. "Forgive me!" she faltered. "I--I did notknow--I--Oh! don't you see? It was all so sudden. I have had no timeto think! I know you are not afraid. But, we can't leave himhere--like this. "

"As you please, " answered Lapierre, gently. 

"It is not the way of the North; but----"

"It is the way of humanity. "

"It is _your_ way--and, therefore, it is my way, also. But, let us notwaste time!" He spoke sharply to Chloe's canoemen, who sprang to theunconscious form, and raising it from the ground, carried it to thewater's edge and deposited it in the canoe. 

"Make all possible speed, " he said, as Chloe preceded Big Lena into thecanoe; "I shall follow to cover your retreat. "

The girl was about to protest, but at that moment the canoe shotswiftly out into the lake, and Lapierre disappeared into the bush. 

There was small need for the quarter-breed's parting injunction. Thefour Indian canoemen evidently keenly alive to the desirability ofplacing distance between themselves and MacNair's retainers, bent totheir paddles with a unanimity of purpose that fairly lifted the bigcanoe through the water and sent the white foam curling from its bow intiny ripples of protest. 

Hour after hour, as the craft drove southward, Chloe sat with thewounded man's head supported in her lap and pondered deeply the thingshe had told her. Now and again she gazed into the bearded face, calm, masklike in its repose of unconsciousness, as if to penetrate behindthe mask and read the real nature of him. She realized with a feelingalmost of fear, that here was no weakling--no plastic irresolute--whosewill could be dominated by the will of a stronger; but a man, virile, indomitable; a man of iron will who, though he scorned to stoop todefend his position, was unashamed to vindicate it. A man whose wordscarried conviction, and whose eyes compelled attention, even respect, though the uncouth boorishness of him repelled. 

Yet she knew that somewhere deep behind that rough exterior lay a finersensitiveness, a gentleness of feeling, and a sympathy that hadimpelled him to a deed of unconscious chivalry of which no man need beashamed. And in her heart Chloe knew that had she not witnessed withher own eyes the destruction of his whiskey, she would have beenconvinced of his sincerity, if not of his postulates. "He is bad, butnot _all_ bad, " she murmured to herself. "A man who will fight hard, but fairly. At all events, my journey to Snare Lake has not beenentirely in vain. He knows, now, that I have come into the North tostay; that I am not afraid of him, and will fight him. He knows that Iam honest----"

Suddenly the very last words she had spoken to him flashed into hermind--"Mr. Lapierre is far to the Southward"--and then Chloe closed hereyes as if to shut out that look of mingled contempt and reproach withwhich the wounded man had sunk into unconsciousness. "He thinks I liedto him--that the whole thing was planned, " she muttered, and wasconscious of a swift anger against Lapierre. Her eyes swept backwardto the brown spot in the distance which was Lapierre's canoe. 

"He came up here because he thought I was in danger, " she mused. "AndMacNair would have killed him. Oh, it is terrible, " she moaned. "Thiswild, hard wilderness, where human life is cheap; where men hate, andkill, and maim, and break all the laws of God and man; it is all_wrong_! Brutal, and savage, and wrong!"

The shadows lengthened, the canoe slipped into the river that leads toReindeer Lake, and still the tireless canoemen bent unceasingly totheir paddles. Reindeer Lake was crossed by moonlight, and a late campwas made a mile to the westward of the portage. The camp was fireless, and the men talked in whispers. Later Lapierre joined them, and at thefirst grey hint of dawn the outfit was again astir. By noon thefive-mile portage had been negotiated, and the canoes headed down CarpLake, which is the northmost reach of the Yellow Knife. 

The following two days showed no diminution in the efforts of thecanoemen. The wounded man's condition remained unchanged. Lapierre'scanoe followed at a distance of a mile or two, and a hundred times aday Chloe found herself listening with strained expectancy for thesound of the shots that would proclaim that MacNair's Indians hadovertaken them. But no shots were fired, and it was with a feeling ofintense relief that the girl welcomed the sight of her own buildings asthey loomed in the clearing on the evening of the third day. 

That night Lapierre visited Chloe in the cottage, where he found herseated beside MacNair's bed, putting the finishing touches to aswathing of fresh bandages. 

"How is he doing?" he asked, with a nod toward the injured man. 

"There is no change, " answered the girl, as she indicated a chair closebeside a table, upon which were a tin basin, various bottles, andporcelain cups containing medicine, and a small pile of antiseptictablets. For just an instant the man's glance rested upon the tablets, and then swiftly swept the room. It was untenanted except for the girland the unconscious man on the bed. 

"LeFroy, it seems, has improved his time, " ventured Lapierre as heaccepted the proffered chair and drew from his pocket a thick packet ofpapers. "His complete list of supplies, " he smiled. "With these inyour storehouse you may well expect to seriously menace the trade ofboth MacNair and the Hudson Bay Company's post at Fort Rae. "

Chloe glanced at the list indifferently. "It seems, Mr. Lapierre, thatyour mind is always upon trade--when it is not upon the killing of men. "

The quarter-breed was quick to note the disapproval of her tone, andhastened to reply. "Surely, Miss Elliston, you cannot believe that Iregard the killing of men as a pleasure; it is a matter of deep regretto me that twice during the short period of our acquaintance I havebeen called upon to shoot a fellow man. "

"Only twice! How about the shot in the night--in the camp of theIndians, before you left for the Southward?" The sarcasm of the lastfour words was not lost upon the man. "Who fired that shot? And whatwas the thing that was lifted from your canoe and dropped into theriver?"

Lapierre's eyes searched hers. Did she know the truth? The chance wasagainst it. 

"A most deplorable affair--a fight between Indians. One was killed andwe buried him in the river. I had hoped to keep this from your ears. Such incidents are all too common in the Northland----"

"And the murderer----"

"Has escaped. But to return to the others. Both shots, as you wellknow, were fired on the instant, and in neither case did I draw first. "

Chloe, who had been regarding him intently, was forced to admit thejustice of his words. She noted the serious sadness of the handsomefeatures, the deep regret in his voice, and suddenly realized that inboth instances Lapierre's shots had been fired primarily in defence ofher. 

A sudden sense of shame--of helplessness--came over her. Could it bethat she did not fit the North? Surely, Lapierre was entitled to hergratitude, rather than her condemnation. Judged by his own standard, he had done well. With a shudder she wondered if she would ever reachthe point where she could calmly regard the killing of men as a mereincident in the day's work? She thought not. And yet--what had mentold her of Tiger Elliston? Without exception, almost, the deeds theyrecounted had been deeds of violence and bloodshed. When she replied, her voice had lost its note of disapproval. 

"Forgive me, " she said softly, "it has all been so different--sostrange and new, and big. I have been unable to grasp it. All my lifeI have been taught to hold human life sacred. It is not you who are toblame! Nor, is it the others. It is the kill or be killed creed--thesavage wolf creed--of the North. "

The girl spoke rapidly, with her eyes upon the face of MacNair. Soabsorbed was she that she did not see the slim fingers of Lapierresteal softly across the table-top and extract two tablets from thelittle pile--failed also to see the swift motion with which thosefingers dropped the tablets into a porcelain cup, across the rim ofwhich rested a silver spoon. 

The man arose at the conclusion of her words, and crossing to her siderested a slim hand upon the back of her chair. "No. Miss Elliston, "he said gently, "I am not to blame nor, in a measure, are the others. It is, as you say, the North--the crushing, terrible, alluringNorth--in whose primitive creed a good man does not mean a moral one, but one who accomplishes his purpose, even though that purpose be bad. End, and not means, is the ethics of the lean, lone land, where humanlife sinks into insignificance, beneath the immutable law of savagemight. "

His eyes burned as he gazed down into the upturned face of the girl. His hands stole lightly from the chair back and rested upon hershoulder. For one long, intense moment, their eyes held, and then, with a movement as swift and lithe as the spring of a panther, the manwas upon his knees beside her chair, his arms were about her, and withno thought of resistance, Chloe felt herself drawn close against hisbreast, felt the wild beating of his heart, and then--his lips wereupon hers, and she felt herself struggling feebly against the embraceof the sinewy arms. 

Only for a moment did Lapierre hold her. With a movement as sudden andimpulsive as the movement that embraced her, the arms were withdrawn, and the man leaped swiftly to his feet. Too dazed to speak, Chloe satmotionless, her brain in a chaotic whirl of emotion, while in herbreast outraged dignity and hot, fierce anger strove for the masteryover a thrill, so strange to her, so new, so intense that it stirredher to the innermost depths of her being. 

Swiftly, unconsciously, her glance rested for a moment upon the lean, bearded face of MacNair; and beside her chair, Lapierre noted theglance, and the thin lips twisted into a smile--a cynical, sardonicsmile, that faded on the instant, as his eyes flashed toward thedoorway. For there, silent and grim as he had seen her once before, stood Big Lena, whose china-blue eyes were fixed upon him, in that samedisconcerting, fishlike stare. 

The hot blood mounted to his cheeks and suddenly receded, so that hisface showed pallid and pasty in the gloom of the darkened room. Hedrew his hand uncertainly across his brow and found it damp with acold, moist sweat. Was it fancy, or did the china-blue, fishlike eyesrest for just an instant upon the porcelain cup on the table? With aneffort the man composed himself, and stooping, whispered a few hurriedwords into the ears of the girl who sat with her face buried in herhands. 

"Forgive me, Miss Elliston; for the moment I forgot that I had noright. I love you! Love you more than life itself! More than my ownlife--or the lives of others. It was but the impulse of an unguardedmoment that caused me to forget that I had not the right--forget that Iam a gentleman. We love as we kill in the North. And now, good-by, Iam going Southward. I will return, if it is within the power of man toreturn, before the ice skims the lakes and the rivers. "

He paused, but the girl remained as though she had not heard him. Heleaned closer, his lips almost upon her ear. "Please, Miss Elliston, can you not forgive me--wish me one last bon voyage?"

Slowly, as one in a dream, Chloe offered him her hand. "Good-by!" shesaid simply, in a dull, toneless voice. The man seized the hand, pressed it lightly, and turning abruptly, crossed to the table. As hedrew his Stetson toward him, its brim came into violent contact withthe porcelain medicine cup. The cup crashed to the floor, its contentssplashing widely over the whip-sawed boards. 

With a hurried word of apology he passed out of the door--passed closebeside the form of Big Lena onto whose cold, fishlike eyes the blackeyes stared insolently, even as the thin lips twisted into asmile--cynical, sardonic, mocking. 

CHAPTER XII

A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT

The days immediately following Lapierre's departure were busy days forChloe Elliston. The word had passed along the lakes and the rivers, and stolid, sullen-faced Indians stole in from the scrub to gazeapathetically at the buildings on the banks of the Yellow Knife. Chloewith pain-staking repetition, through LeFroy as interpreter, explainedto each the object of her school; with the result that a goodly numberremained and lost no time in installing themselves in the commodiousbarracks. 

On the evening of the second day the girl tiptoed into the sick-roomand, bending over MacNair, was startled to encounter the steady gaze ofthe steel-grey eyes. "I thought you never would come to, " she smiled. "You see, I don't know much about surgery, and I was afraid perhaps--"

"Perhaps Lapierre had done his work well?"

Chloe started at the weak, almost gentle tones of the gruff voice shehad learned to associate with this man of the North. She flushed asshe met the steady, disconcerting stare of the grey eyes. "He shot onthe spur of the moment. He thought you were going to shoot him. "

"And he shot from--far to the Southward?"

"Oh! You do not think--you do not believe that I deliberately _lied_to you! That I _knew_ Lapierre was on Snare Lake!" The words fellfrom her lips with an intense eagerness that carried the ring ofsincerity. The hard look faded from the man's eyes, and the beardedlips suggested just the shadow of a smile. 

"No, " he answered weakly; "I do not think that. But tell me, how longhave I been this way? And what has happened? For I remembernothing--after the world turned black. I am surprised that Lapierremissed me. He has the reputation for killing--at his own range. "

"But he didn't miss you!" cried the girl in surprise. "It was hisbullet that--that made the world turn black. "

"Aye; but it was a miss, just the same, and a miss, I am thinking, thatwill cost him dear. He should have killed me. "

"Please do not talk, " said the girl in sudden alarm, and taking themedicine from the table, held the spoon to the man's lips. Heswallowed its contents, and was about to speak when Chloe interruptedhim. "Please do not talk, " she begged, "and I'll tell you whathappened. There is not much to tell: after we bound up your wounds webrought you here, where I could give you proper care. It took threedays to do this, and two days have passed since we arrived. "

"I knew I was in your----"

Chloe flushed deeply. "Yes, in my room, " she hastened to interrupthim; "but you must not talk. It was the only place I knew where youcould be quiet and--and safe. "

"But, Lapierre--why did he allow it?"

Chloe flushed. "Allow it! I do not take orders from Mr. Lapierre, norfrom you, nor from anybody else. This is my school; this cottage ismine; I'll do as I please with it, and I'll bring who I please into itwithout asking permission from any one. "

While she was speaking, the man's glance strayed from her flashing eyesto the face of a tarnished, smoke-blackened portrait that showedindistinct in the dull lamplight of the little room. Chloe's glancefollowed MacNair's, and as the little clock ticked sharply, both staredin silence into the lean, lined features of Tiger Elliston. 

"Your eyes, " murmured the man--"sometimes they are like that. "Suddenly his voice strengthened. He continued to gaze at the face inthe dull gold frame. With an effort he withdrew an arm from beneaththe cover and pointed with a finger that trembled weakly. "I shouldlike to have known him, " he said. "By God, yon is the face of a _man_!"

"My grandfather, " muttered the girl. 

"You'll love the North--when you know it, " said MacNair. "Tell me, didLapierre advise you to bring me here?"

"No, " answered Chloe, "he did not. He--he said to leave you; that yourIndians would care for you. "

"And my Indians--did they not follow you?" Chloe shook her head. Oncemore MacNair bent a searching glance upon the girl's face. "Where isLapierre?" he asked. 

"He is gone, " Chloe answered. "Two days ago he left for the----" Shehesitated as there flashed through her brain the moment on Snare Lakewhen, once before, she had answered MacNair's question in almost thesame words. "_He said_ he was going to the southward, " she corrected. 

MacNair smiled. "I think, this time, he has gone. But why he leftwithout killing me I cannot understand. Lapierre has made a mistake. "

"You do him an injustice! Mr. Lapierre does not want to kill you. Heis sorry he was forced to shoot; but, as he said, it was your life orhis. And now please do be quiet, or I must leave you to yourself. "

MacNair closed his eyes, and, seating herself by the table, Chloestared silently into the face of the portrait until the man's deep, regular breathing told her that he slept. 

Slowly the moments passed, and the girl's gaze roved from the face ofthe portrait along the walls of the little room. Suddenly her eyesdilated in horror; for there, tight pressed against an upper pane ofthe window, whose lower sash was daintily curtained with chintz, appeared a dark, scowling face--the face of an Indian, which sheinstantly recognized as one of the two who had accompanied MacNair uponhis first visit to her clearing. 

Even as she looked the face vanished, leaving the girl staringwide-eyed at the black square of the window. Curbing her impulse toawake MacNair, she stole softly from the room and, unlocking the outerdoor, sped swiftly through the darkness toward the little square oflight that glowed from the window of the store. 

The distance was not great from the door of the cottage to the softsquare of radiance that showed distinctly in the darkness. But even asChloe ran, the light was suddenly extinguished, and the outlines of thebig storehouse loomed vague and huge and indistinct against the blackbackground of the encircling scrub. The girl stopped abruptly andstared uncertainly into the darkness. Her heart beat wildly. Astrange sense of terror came over her as she stood alone, surrounded bythe blackness of the clearing. Why had LeFroy extinguished his light?And why was the night so still?

She strained to catch the familiar sounds of the wilderness--the littlenight sounds to which she had grown accustomed: the bellowing of frogsin the sedges, the chirp of tree-toads, and the harsh squawk ofstartled night-fowls. Even the air seemed unnaturally still, and theceaseless drone of the mosquitoes served but to intensify the unnaturalsilence. The mosquitoes broke the spell of the nameless terror, andshe slapped viciously at her face and neck. 

"I'm a fool, " she muttered; "a perfect fool! LeFroy puts out his lightevery night and--and what if there are no sounds? I'm just listeningfor something to be afraid of. "

She glanced backward toward her own cottage where the light stillglowed from the window. It was reassuring, that little square ofyellow lamp-light that shone softly from the window of her room. Shewas not afraid now. She would return to the cottage and lock the door. She shuddered at the thought. Before her rose the vision of that dark, shadowy face, tight-pressed against the glass. Instinctively she knewthat Indian was not alone. There were others, and--once more her eyesswept the blackness. 

Suddenly the question flashed through her brain: Why should theseIndians seek to avenge MacNair--the man who held the power of life anddeath over them--who had practically forced them into servitude? Then, swift as the question, flashed the answer: It was not to avenge MacNairthey came, but, knowing he was helpless, to strike the blow that wouldfree themselves from the yoke. Had Lapierre known this? Had he left, knowing that the man's own Indians would finish the work his bullet hadonly half completed? No! Lapierre would not have done that. Did henot say: "I am glad I did not kill him"? He was thinking only of mysafety. 

"We'll be safe enough till morning, " she muttered. "Surely I have readsomewhere that Indians never attack in the night. Tomorrow we musthide MacNair where they cannot find him. They will murder him, nowthat he is wounded. How they must hate him! Must hate the man who hasoppressed and debauched and cheated them!"

The girl had nearly reached the door of the cottage when once more shehalted, rooted in her tracks. Out of the unnatural silence of thenight, close upon the edge of the clearing, boomed the cry of the greathorned owl. It was a sound she had often heard here in the northernnight--this hooting of an owl; but, somehow, this sound was different. Once more her heart thumped wildly against her ribs. Her fistsclenched, and she peered tensely toward the wall of the scrub timberthat showed silent and black and impenetrable in the little light ofthe stars. Again the portentous silence and then--was it fancy, orwere there shapes, stealthy, elusive, shadowy, moving along the wall ofthe intense blackness?

A light suddenly flashed from the window of the storehouse. Itdisappeared. The great door banged sharply, and out of the blacknesssounded a rush of moccasined feet, padding the earth as they ran. 

From the edge of the timber--from the direction of the shadowyshapes--came a long, thin spurt of flame, and the silence was broken bythe roar of a smooth-bore rifle. The next instant the roar wasincreased tenfold, and from the loopholes high on the walls of thestorehouse flashed other thin red spurts of flame. 

Terror-stricken, Chloe dashed for the cottage. Along the entire lengthof the timber-line, spikes of flame belched forth, and the crash androar of rifles drowned the rush of the moccasin feet. A form dashedpast her in the darkness, and then another, forcing Chloe from thepath. The terrified girl realized that these forms were speedingstraight for the door of the cottage. Her first thought was forMacNair. He would be murdered as he slept. 

She redoubled her efforts, feeling blindly in the darkness for the paththat led toward the square of light. In her ears sounded the sharpjangle of smashing glass. Her foot caught in a vine, and she crashedheavily forward almost at the door. All about her guns roared; fromthe edge of the scrub, from the river-bank, and from the corners of thelong log dormitories. Bullets whined above her like angry mosquitoes, and thudded dully against the logs of the cottage. 

Again sounded the sharp jangle of glass. She struggled to her knees, and was hurled backward as the huge form of an Indian tripped over herand sprawled, cursing, at her side. The door of the cottage burstsuddenly open, and in the long quadrangle of light the forms of the twoIndians who had passed her stood out distinctly. The girl gave aquick, short sob of relief. They were LeFroy's Indians! At the soundthe man on the ground thrust his face close to hers and with a quickgrunt of surprise scrambled to his feet. Chloe felt her arm seized, and realized that she was being dragged toward the door of the cottagethrough which the other two Indians had disappeared. She was jerkedroughly across the threshold, and lay huddled up on the floor. TheIndian released his hold on her arm and, stepping across her body, reached for the door. 

Outside, the roar of the guns was incessant. Suddenly, close at hand, Chloe heard a quick, wicked spat, and the Indian reeled from thedoorway, whirled as on a pivot, and crashed, face downward, across thetable. There was a loud rattle of porcelain dishes, a rifle rangsharply upon the floor boards, and Chloe gazed in horrid fascination asthe limp form of the Indian slipped slowly from the table. Itsmomentum increased, and the back of the man's head struck the floorwith a sickening thump. The face turned toward her--a face wet anddripping with the rich red blood that oozed thickly from the irregularhole in the forehead where the soft, round ball from a smooth bore hadtorn into the brain. The wide eyes stared stonily into her own. Thejaws sagged open, and the nearly severed tongue protruded from betweenthe fang-like yellow teeth. 

Someone blew out the lamp. The door slammed shut. Chloe felt stronghands beneath her shoulders; the voice of Big Lena sounded in her ears, and she was being guided through the pitch blackness to the door of herown room. The lamp by the bedside had also been extinguished, and thegirl glanced toward the window, which showed in the feeble starlight apattern of jagged panes. One of the Indians who had preceded her intothe cottage thrust the barrel of a rifle through the aperture and firedrapidly at the flashes of flame in the clearing. 

In the other room someone was shrieking, and Chloe recognized the voiceof Harriet Penny. Big Lena left her side, and a moment later theshrieking ceased, or, rather, quieted to a series of terrified, chokinggrunts and muffled cries, as though something soft and thick had beenforcibly applied as a gag. Chloe groped her way blindly toward thebed, where she had left the wounded man. Her feet stumbled awkwardlythrough the confusion of debris that was the wreck of the over-turnedmedicine table. 

"Are you hurt?" she gasped as she sank trembling upon the edge of thebed. Close beside her sounded the sharp snap of metal as the Indianjammed fresh cartridges into his magazine. 

"No!" said a voice in her ear. "I'm not hurt. Are you?" Chloe shookher head, forgetting that in the intense blackness she had returned noanswer. There was a movement upon the bed; a huge hand closed roughlyabout her arm. The Indian was firing again. 

"Tell me, are you hurt?" rasped a voice in her ear. And her arm wasshaken almost fiercely. 

"No!" she managed to gasp, struggling to free herself. "But oh, it'sall too, too horrible, too awful! There is a dead man in the otherroom. He is one of LeFroy's Indians. One of _my_ Indians, and theyshot him!"

"I'm damned glad of it!" growled MacNair thickly, and Chloe leaped fromthe bed. The coarse brutality of the man was inconceivable. In hermingled emotion of rage and loathing, she hated this man with a fierce, savage hatred that could kill. She knew now why men called him BruteMacNair. The name fitted! These Indians had rushed from the securityof the fortlike storehouse upon the first intimation of danger toprotect the defenseless quartet in the cottage--the three women and thewounded, helpless man. In the very doorway of the cottage one had beenkilled--killed facing the enemy--the savage blood-thirsty horde who, having learned of the plight of their oppressor, had taken the warpathto venge their wrongs. Surely MacNair must know that this man had diedas much in the defense of him as of the women. And yet, when helearned of the death of this man, he had said: "I am damned glad of it!"

How long Chloe stood there speechless, trembling, with her heart fairlybursting with rage, she did not know. Time ceased to be. Suddenly sherealized that the room was no longer in intense darkness. Objectsappeared dim and indistinct: the bed with the wounded man, the contentsof the table strewn in confusion upon the floor, and the Indianshooting from the window. Then the flare of flames met her eyes. Thewalls of the storehouse stood out distinctly from its black backgroundof timber. Savage forms appeared in the clearing, gliding stealthilyfrom stump to stump. 

The light grew brighter. She could hear now, mingled with the sharpcrack of the rifles, the dull roar of flames. The dormitories wereburning! This added to her consuming rage. Her eyes seemed fairly toglow as she fixed them upon the pale face of MacNair, who had struggledto a sitting posture. She took a step toward the bed. A dull red spotshowed on either cheek. A bullet ripped through the window andsplintered the dull gold frame of Tiger Elliston's portrait, but thegirl had lost all sense of fear. She shook her clenched fist in thebearded face of the man, and her voice quavered high and thin. 

"You--you--_damn you_!" she cried. "I wish I'd left you back there tothe mercy of your savages! You're a brute--a fiend! It would serveyou right if I should give you up to them! He--the man who waskilled--was trying to save you from the righteous wrath of those youhave ground down and oppressed!"

MacNair ignored her words, and as his eyes met hers squarely, theybetrayed not the slightest emotion. The pallid features showed tenseand drawn in the growing firelight. His gaze projected past her to thelean face of Tiger Elliston. 

"You are a fighter at heart, " he said slowly addressing the girl. "Youare his flesh and blood and he was a fighter. He won to victory overthe bodies of his enemies. In his eyes I can see it. "

"He was no coward!" flashed the girl. "He never won to victory overthe bodies of his friends!" With an effort the man reached for hisclothing, which hung from a peg near the head of the bed. 

"Where are you going?" cried the girl sharply. 

"I am going, " MacNair answered gravely, looking straight into her eyes, "to take my Indians back to Snare Lake. "

"They will kill you!" she cried impulsively. 

"They will not!" MacNair smiled; "but if they do, you will be glad. Did you not say----"

The girl faced swiftly away, and at the same moment the Indian at thewindow staggered backward, dropping his rifle and cursing horribly inthe only English he knew, as he clutched frantically at his shoulder. Chloe turned. MacNair was lacing his boots. He raised himself weaklyto his feet, swaying uncertainly, with his hand pressed against hischest, and laughed harshly into the pain-twisted features of the Indian. 

"When the last of yon dogs gets his bullet, I can leave this place insafety. "

"What do you mean?" cried the girl, her eyes blazing. 

"I mean, " rasped the man, "that you are a fool! You have listened toLapierre and you have easily become his dupe. There is no Indian inhis employ who would not kill me. They have had their orders. Haveyou stopped to reflect that the brave Lapierre did not himself remainto stem this attack? To protect me from my Indians?"

The sneer in MacNair's voice was not lost upon the girl, who drewherself up haughtily. 

"Mr. Lapierre, " she answered, "could hardly be charged withanticipating this attack, nor could he be blamed for not altering hisplans to fight _your_ battles. "

MacNair laughed. "The idea of Lapierre fighting _my_ battles is, indeed, unique. And you may be sure that Lapierre will not fight hisown battles--as long as he can find others to fight them for him. MissElliston, this attack _was_ anticipated. Lapierre knew to a certaintythat when my Indians read the signs, and learned what had happenedthere on the shore of Snare Lake, their vengeance would not bedelayed. " He looked straight into the eyes of the girl. "Did you armyour Indians?"

"I did not!" answered Chloe. "I brought no guns. "

"Then where did your Indians get their rifles?"

"Well, really, Mr. MacNair, I cannot tell you. Possibly at the sameplace your Indians got theirs. The Indians, who have come to me hereare hunters and trappers. Is it so extraordinary that men who arehunters should own guns?"

"Your ignorance would be amusing, if it were not tragic!" retortedMacNair. And picking up the gun which the wounded Indian had dropped, held it before the eyes of the girl. "The hunters of the North, MissElliston, do not equip themselves with Mausers. "

"With Mausers!" cried the girl. "You mean----"

"I mean just this, " broke in MacNair, "that your Indians were armed tokill men, not animals. With, or without, your knowledge or sanction, your Indians have been supplied with the best rifles obtainable. Yourschool is Lapierre's fort!" Thrusting the rifle into the hands of thegirl, he brushed past her and with difficulty made his way through theintervening room to the outer door, which he threw open. 

Chloe followed. Outside the firing continued with undiminishedintensity, but the girl was conscious of no sense of fear. Her eyesswept the room, flooded now by the glare of the flaring flames. Besidethe stove stood Big Lena, an ax gripped tightly in her strong hands. The remaining Indian lay upon the floor, firing slowly through aloophole punched in the chinking. At the doorway MacNair turned, andin the strong light Chloe noticed that his face was haggard and drawnwith pain. 

"I thank you. " he said, touching his bandaged chest, "for your nursing. It has probably saved my life. "

"Come back! They will kill you!" MacNair ignored her warning. "Youhave one redeeming feature, " cried the girl. "At least, you are asbrutal toward yourself as toward others. "

MacNair laughed harshly. "I thank you, " he said and staggered out intothe fire-lit clearing. Dully, Chloe noticed that the Indian who hadbeen firing from the floor slipped stealthily through the doorway and, dropping to his knee, raised his rifle. The next instant the girl'seyes widened in horror. The gun was pointed squarely at MacNair'sback. She tried to cry out, but no sound came. It seemed minutes thatthe Indian sighted as he knelt there in the clearing. And then--hepulled the trigger. There was a sharp, metallic click, followed by amuttered imprecation. The man jerked down the rifle and reaching intohis pocket, produced long yellow cartridges, which he jammed into themagazine. 

The horror of it! The diabolical deliberation of the man spurred thegirl to a fury she had never known. In that moment her one thought wasto kill--to kill with her hands--to rend--to tear--and to maim! Forthe first time she realized that the thing in her hand was a gun. 

Again the Indian was raising his rifle. The girl twisted and jerked atthe bolt of her own gun. It was locked. The next instant, with aloud, animal-like cry, she leaped for the doorway, trampling, as shepassed, with a wild, fierce joy upon the upturned staring face of thedead Indian. 

Out in the clearing the flames roared and crackled. Rifles spat. Andbefore her the Indian was again lining his sights. Grasping the heavyrifle by the barrel, Chloe whirled it high above her and brought itdown with a crash upon the head of the kneeling savage. The mancrumpled as dead men crumple--in an ugly, twisted heap. Fierce, swiftexultation shot through the girl's brain as she stood beside theformless thing on the ground. She looked up--squarely into the eyes ofMacNair, who had turned at the sound of her outcry. 

"I said you would fight!" called the man. "I have seen it in youreyes. They are the eyes of the man on the wall. "

Then, abruptly, he turned and disappeared in the direction of the river. 

CHAPTER XIII

LAPIERRE RETURNS FROM THE SOUTH

When Pierre Lapierre left Chloe Elliston's school after the completionof the buildings, he proceeded at once to his own rendezvous on Lac duMort. 

This shrewdly chosen stronghold was situated on a high, jutting pointthat rose abruptly from the waters of the inland lake, which surroundedit upon three sides. The land side was protected by an enormous blackspruce swamp. This headland terminated in a small, rock-rimmedplateau, perhaps three acres in extent, and was so situated as to bepractically impregnable against the attack of an ordinary force; therim-rocks forming a natural barricade which reduced the necessity forartificial fortification to a minimum. Across the neck of the tinypeninsula, Lapierre had thrown a strong stockade of logs, and from thelake access was had only by means of a narrow, one-man trail thatslanted and twisted among the rocks of the precipitous cliff side. 

The plateau itself was sparsely covered with a growth of stunted spruceand banskian, which served as a screen both for the stockade and thelong, low, fort-like building of logs, which was Lapierre's main cachefor the storing of fur, goods of barter, and contraband whiskey. Thefort was provisioned to withstand a siege, and it was there that thecrafty quarter-breed had succeeded in storing two hundred Mauser riflesand many cases of ammunition. Among Lapierre's followers it was knownas the "Bastile du Mort. " A safe haven of refuge for the hard-pressed, and, in event of necessity, the one place in all the North where theymight hope indefinitely to defy their enemies. 

The secret of this fort had been well guarded, and outside ofLapierre's organized band, but one man knew its location--and few evenguessed its existence. There were vague rumours about the Hudson Bayposts, and in the barracks of the Mounted, that Lapierre maintainedsuch a fort, but its location was accredited to one of the numerousislands of the extreme western arm of Great Slave Lake. 

Bob MacNair knew of the fort, and the rifles, and the whiskey. Heknew, also, that Lapierre did not know that he knew, and therein, atthe proper time, would lie his advantage. The Hudson Bay Company hadno vital interest in verifying the rumour, nor had the men of theMounted, for as yet Lapierre had succeeded in avoiding suspicion exceptin the minds of a very few. And these few, realizing that if Lapierrewas an outlaw, he was by far the shrewdest and most dangerous outlawwith whom they had ever been called upon to deal, were very careful tokeep their suspicions to themselves, until such time as they couldcatch him with the goods--after that would come the business oftracking him to his lair. And they knew to a certainty that the menwould not be wanting who could do this--no matter how shrewdly thatlair was concealed. 

Upon arriving at Lac du Mort, Lapierre ordered the canoe-men to loadthe fur, proceed at once to the mouth of Slave River, transfer it tothe scows, and immediately start upon the track-line journey toAthabasca Landing. His own canoe he loaded with rifles and ammunition, and returned to the Yellow Knife. It was then he learned that Chloehad gone to Snare Lake, and while he little relished an incursion intoMacNair's domain, he secreted the rifles in the store-house and set outforthwith to overtake her. Despite the fact that he knew the girl tobe strongly prejudiced against MacNair, Lapierre had no wish for her tosee his colony in its normal condition of peace and prosperity. Andso, pushing his canoemen to the limit of their endurance, he overtookher as she talked with MacNair by the side of his mother's grave. 

Creeping noiselessly through the scrub to the very edge of the tinyclearing, Lapierre satisfied himself that MacNair was unattended by hisIndians. The man's back was turned toward him, and the quarter-breednoticed that, as he talked, he leaned upon his rifle. It was a chancein a thousand. Never before had he caught MacNair unprepared--and theman's blood would be upon his own head. Drawing the revolver from itsholster, he timed his movements to the fraction of a second; anddeliberately snapped a twig, MacNair whirled like a flash, and Lapierrefired. His bullet went an inch too high, and when Chloe insisted uponcarrying the wounded man to the school, Lapierre could but feeblyprotest. 

The journey down the Yellow Knife was a nightmare for thequarter-breed, who momentarily expected an attack from MacNair'sIndians. Upon their safe arrival, however, his black eyes glitteredwickedly--at last MacNair was _his_. Fate had played directly into hishands. He knew the attack was inevitable, and during theexcitement--well, LeFroy could be trusted to attend to MacNair. Withthe rifles in the storehouse, MacNair's Indians would be beaten back, and in the event of an investigation by the Mounted, the responsibilitywould be laid at MacNair's door. But of that MacNair would never know, for MacNair would have passed beyond. 

Knowing that the vengeance of MacNair's Indians would not be longdelayed, Lapierre determined to be well away from the Yellow Knife whenthe attack came. However, he had no wish to leave without firstassuring himself that the shooting of MacNair stood justified in theeyes of the girl, and to that end he had called upon her in her cottage. 

Then it was that chance seemed to offer a safe and certain means ofputting MacNair away, and he dropped the poisonous antiseptic tabletsinto the medicine, only to have his plan frustrated by the unexpectedpresence of Big Lena. He was not sure that the woman had seen hisaction. But he took no chances, and with an apparent awkward movementof his hat, destroyed the evidence, sought out LeFroy, who had alreadybeen warned of the impending attack, and ordered him to place three orfour of his most dependable Indians in the cottage, with instructionsnot only to protect Chloe, but to kill MacNair. 

Then he hastened southward to overtake his scowmen, who were toiling atthe track-lines somewhere among the turbulent rapids of the Slave. Andindeed there was need of haste. The summer was well advanced. Sixhundred miles of track-line and portage lay between Great Slave Lakeand Athabasca Landing. And if he was to return with the manyscow-loads of supplies for Chloe Elliston's store before the water-waybecame ice-locked, he had not a day nor an hour to lose. 

At Point Brule he overtook the fur-laden scows, and at Smith Landing anIndian runner reported the result of the fight, and the escape ofMacNair. Lapierre smothered his rage, and with twenty men at thetrack-line of each scow, bored his way southward. 

A month later the gaunt, hard-bitten outfit tied up at the Landing. Lapierre disposed of his fur, purchased the supplies, and within a weekthe outfit was again upon the river. 

At the mouth of La Biche a half-dozen burlapped pieces were removedfrom a _cache_ in a thicket of balsam and added to the outfit. And atFort Chippewayan the scows with their contents were examined by twoofficers of the Mounted, and allowed to proceed on their way. 

On the Yellow Knife, Chloe Elliston anxiously awaited Lapierre'sreturn. Under LeFroy's supervision the dormitories had been rebuilt, and a few sorry-looking, one-room cabins erected, in which families ofIndians had taken up their abode. 

Through the long days of the late summer and early fall, Indians hadpassed and repassed upon the river, and always, in answer to the girl'squestioning, they spoke of the brutality of MacNair. Of how men weremade to work from daylight to dark in his mines. And of the fact thatno matter how hard they worked, they were always in his debt. Theytold how he plied them with whiskey, and the hunger and misery of thewomen and children. All this the girl learned through her interpreter, LeFroy; and not a few of these Indians remained to take up their abodein dormitories or cabins, until the little settlement boasted somethirty or forty colonists. 

It was hard, discouraging work, this striving to implant the rudimentsof education in the minds of the sullen, apathetic savages, whose chiefambition was to gorge themselves into stupidity with food from thestorehouse. With the adults the case seemed hopeless. And, indeed, the girl attempted little beyond instruction in the simplest principlesof personal and domestic cleanliness and order. Even this met with noresponse, until she established a daily inspection, and it became knownthat the filthy should also go hungry. 

With the children, Chloe made some slight headway, but only at theexpense of unceasing, monotonous repetition, and even she was forced toadmit that the results were far from encouraging. The little savageshad no slightest conception of any pride or interest in their dailytasks, but followed unvaryingly the line of least resistance asdelineated by a simple system of rewards and punishments. 

The men had shown no aptitude for work of any kind, and now when theice skimmed thinly the edges of the lake and rivers, they collectedtheir traps and disappeared into the timber, cheerfully leaving thewomen and children to be fed and cared for at the school. As the daysshortened and the nights grew longer, the girl realized, withbitterness in her heart, that almost the only thing she hadaccomplished along educational lines was the imperfect smattering ofthe Indian tongue that she herself had acquired. 

But her chiefest anxiety was a more material one, and Lapierre'sappearance with the supplies became a matter of the gravest importance, for upon their departure the trappers had drawn heavily upon theslender remaining stores, with a result that the little colony on theYellow Knife was already reduced to half rations, and was entirelydependent upon the scows for the winter's supply of provisions. 

Not since the night of the battle had Chloe heard directly fromMacNair. He had not visited the school, nor had he expressed a word ofregret or apology for the outrage. He ignored her existencecompletely, and the girl guessed that many of the Indians who refusedher invitation to camp in the clearing, as they passed and repassedupon the river, did so in obedience to MacNair's command. 

In spite of her abhorrence for the man, she resented his totaldisregard of her existence. Indeed, she would have welcomed a visitfrom him, if for no other reason than because he was a white man. Shespent many hours in framing bitter denunciations to be used in event ofhis appearance. But he did not appear, and resentment added to theanger in her heart, until in her mind he became the embodiment of allthat was despicable, and brutish, and evil. 

More than once she was upon the point of attempting another visit toSnare Lake, and in all probability would have done so had not Big Lenaflatly refused to accompany her under any circumstances whatever. Andthis attitude the huge Swedish woman stubbornly maintained, preservinga haughty indifference alike to Chloe's taunts of cowardice, promise ofreward, and threats of dismissal. Whereupon Chloe broached the subjectto Harriet Penny, and that valiant soul promptly flew into hysteria, sothat for three days Chloe did double duty in the school. After thatshe nursed her wrath in silence and brooded upon the wrongs ofMacNair's Indians. 

This continued brooding was not without its effect upon the girl, andslowly but surely destroyed her sense of proportion. No longer was theeducation and civilization of the Indians the uppermost thought in hermind. With Lapierre, she came to regard the crushing of MacNair'spower as the most important and altogether desirable undertaking thatcould possibly be consummated. 

While in this frame of mind, just at sunset of a keen October day, thecry of "_la brigade! la brigade!_" reached her ears as she sat alonein her room in the cottage, and rushing to the river bank she joinedthe Indians who swarmed to the water's edge to welcome the huge freightcanoe that had rounded the point below the clearing. Chloe clapped herhands in sheer joy and relief, for there, proud and erect, in the bowof the canoe stood Lapierre, and behind him from bank to bank theYellow Knife fairly swarmed with other full-freighted canoes. Thesupplies had arrived!

Even as the bow of his canoe scraped the bank, Lapierre was at herside. Chloe felt her hand pressed between his--felt the grip of hisstrong fingers, and flushed deeply as she realized that not alonebecause of the supplies was she glad that he had come. And then, hisvoice was in her ears, and she was listening as he told her how good itwas to stand once more at her side, and look into the face whose imagehad spurred him to almost super-human effort, throughout the days andthe nights of the long river trail. 

Lightly she answered him, and Lapierre's heart bounded at the warmth ofher welcome. He turned with a word to his canoemen, and Chloe notedwith admiration, how one and all they sprang to do his bidding. Shemarvelled at his authority. Why did these men leap to obey hisslightest command, when LeFroy, to obtain even the half-heartedobedience she required of her Indians, was forced to brow-beat andbully them? Her heart warmed to the man as she thought of the slovenlyprogress of her school. Here was one who could help her. One whocould point with the finger of a master of men to the weak spots in hersystem. 

Suddenly her brow clouded. For, as she looked upon Lapierre, the wordsof MacNair flashed through her mind, as he stood weak from his wounds, in the dimness of her fire-lit room. Her eyes hardened, andunconsciously her chin thrust outward, as she realized that before shecould ask this man's aid, there were things he must explain. 

Darkness settled, and at a word from Lapierre, fires flared out on thebeach and in the clearing, and by their light the long line of canoemenconveyed the pieces upon their heads into the wide door of thestorehouse. It was a weird, fantastic scene. The long line ofpack-laden men, toiling up the bank between the rows of flaring fires, to disappear in the storehouse; and the long line returningempty-handed to toil again, to the storehouse. After a time Lapierrecalled LeFroy to his side and uttered a few terse commands. The mannodded, and took Lapierre's place at the head of the steep slope to theriver. The quarter-breed turned to the girl. 

"Come, " he said, smiling, "LeFroy can handle them now. May we not goto your cottage? I would hear of your progress--the progress of yourschool. And also, " he bowed, "is it not possible that the great, whatdo you call her, Lena, has prepared supper? I've eaten nothing sincemorning. "

"Forgive me!" cried the girl. "I had completely forgotten supper. But, the men? Have they not eaten since morning?"

Lapierre smiled. "They will eat, " he answered, "when their work isdone. "

Supper over, the two seated themselves upon the little veranda. Alongthe beach the fires still flared, and still the men, like a huge, slow-moving endless chain, carried the supplies to the store-house. Lapierre waved his hand toward the scene. 

"You see now, " he smiled, "why I built the storehouse so large?"

Chloe nodded, and regarded him intently. "Yes, I see that, " sheanswered gravely, "but there are things I do not see. Of course youhave heard of the attack by MacNair's Indians?"

Lapierre assented. "At Smith Landing I heard it, " he answered, andwaited for her to proceed. 

"Had you expected this attack?"

Lapierre glanced at her in well-feigned surprise. 

"Had I expected it, Miss Elliston, do you think I would have gone tothe Southward? Would I have left you to the mercy of those brutes?When I thought you were in danger on Snare Lake, did I----"

The girl interrupted him with a gesture. "No! No! I do not think youanticipated the attack, but----"

Lapierre finished her sentence. "But, MacNair told you I did, and thatI had timed accurately my trip to the Southward? What else did he tellyou?"

"He told me, " answered Chloe, "that had you not anticipated the attackyou would not have armed my Indians with Mausers. He said that myIndians were armed to kill men, not animals. " She paused and lookeddirectly into his eyes. "Mr. Lapierre, where did those rifles comefrom?"

Lapierre answered without a moment's hesitation. "From my--_cache_ tothe westward. " He leaned closer. "I told you once before, " he said, "that I could place a hundred guns in the hands of your Indians, andyou forbade me. While I could remain in the North, I bowed to yourwishes. I know the North and its people, and I knew you would be saferwith the rifles than without them. In event of an emergency, the factthat your Indians were armed with guns that would shoot farther, andharder, and faster, than the guns of your enemies, would offset, in agreat measure, their advantage in numbers. It seems that my judgmentwas vindicated. I disobeyed you flatly. But, surely, you will notblame me! Oh! If you knew----"

Chloe interrupted him. 

"Don't!" she cried sharply. "Please--not that! I--I think Iunderstand. But there are still things I do not understand. Why didone of my own Indians attempt to murder MacNair? And how did MacNairknow that he would attempt to murder him? He said you had ordered itso. And the man was one of your Indians--one of those you left withLeFroy. "

Lapierre nodded. "Do you not see, Miss Elliston, that MacNair istrying by every means in his power to discredit me in your eyes?Apatawa, the Indian you--" Chloe shuddered as he paused, and hehastened on--"The Indian who attempted to shoot MacNair, was originallyone of MacNair's own Indians--one of the few who dared to desert him. And, for the wrongs he had suffered, he had sworn to kill MacNair. "

"But, knowing that, why did LeFroy send him to the cottage?"

"That, " answered Lapierre gravely, "is something I do not know. I mustfirst question LeFroy, and if I find that he thus treacherouslyendangered the life of a wounded man, even though that man was MacNair, who is his enemy, and likewise my enemy, I will teach him a lesson hewill not soon forget. "

Chloe heaved a sigh of relief. "I am glad, " she breathed softly, "thatyou feel that way. "

"Could you doubt it?" asked the man. 

Chloe hesitated. "Yes, " she answered, "I _did_ doubt it. How could Ihelp but doubt, when he warned me what would happen, and it all cameabout as he said? I--I could not help but believe him. And now, onething more. Can you tell me why MacNair's Indians are willing to fightto the death to save him from harm? If the things you tell me aretrue, and I know that they are true, because during the summer I havequestioned many of MacNair's Indians, and they all tell the same story;why do they fight for him?"

Lapierre considered. "That is one of those things, " he answered, "thatmen cannot explain. It is because of his hold upon them. Greatgenerals have had it--this power to sway men--to command them tocertain death, even though those men cursed the very ground theircommanders stood upon. MacNair is a powerful personality. In all theNorth there is not his equal. I cannot explain it. It is apsychological problem none can explain. For, although his Indians hatehim, they make no attempt to free themselves from his yoke, and theywill fight to the death in defense of him. "

"It is hard to believe, " answered Chloe, "hard to understand. And yet, I think I do understand. He said of my grandfather, as he looked intothe eyes of his portrait on the wall: 'He was a fighter. He won tovictory over the bodies of his enemies. ' That is MacNair's idea ofgreatness. "

Lapierre nodded, and when he looked into the face of the girl he notedthat her eyes flashed with purpose. 

"Tell me, " she continued almost sharply, "you are not afraid ofMacNair?"

For just an instant Lapierre hesitated. "No!" he answered. "I am notafraid. "

Chloe leaned toward him eagerly and placed a hand upon his arm, whileher eyes seemed to search his very thoughts. "Then you will go with meto Snare Lake--to carry our war into the heart of the enemy's country?"

"To Snare Lake!" gasped the man. 

"Yes, to Snare Lake. I shall never rest now until MacNair's power overthese poor savages is broken forever. Until they are free from theyoke of oppression. "

"But it would be suicide!" objected Lapierre. "No possible good cancome of it! To kill a lion, one does not thrust his head into thelion's mouth in an effort to choke him to death. There are other ways. "

Chloe laughed. "He will not harm us, " she answered. "I am not goingto kill him as one would kill a lion. There has been blood enoughspilled already. As you say, there are other ways. We are going toSnare Lake for the purpose of procuring evidence that will convict thisman in the courts. "

"The courts!" cried Lapierre. "Where are the courts north of sixty?"

"North of sixty, or south of sixty, what matters it? There are courts, and there are prisons awaiting such as he. Will you go with me, ormust I go alone?"

Lapierre glanced toward the flaring fires, where the endless line ofcanoemen still toiled from the river to the storehouse. Slowly hearose from his chair and extended his hand. 

"I will go with you, " he answered simply, "and now I will say goodnight. "

CHAPTER XIV

THE WHISKEY RUNNERS

When Lapierre left Chloe Elliston's cottage after promising toaccompany her to Snare Lake, he immediately sought out LeFroy, who wassuperintending the distribution of the last of the supplies in thestorehouse. 

The two proceeded to LeFroy's room, and at the end of an hour soughtthe camp of the canoemen. Ten minutes later, two lean-bodied scoutstook the trail for the Northward, with orders to report immediately thewhereabouts of MacNair. If luck favoured him, Lapierre knew thatMacNair accompanied by the pick of his hunters, would be far from SnareLake, upon his semi annual pilgrimage to intercept the fall migrationof the caribou herd, along the northernmost reaches of the barrengrounds. 

If MacNair had not yet started upon the fall hunt, the journey to SnareLake must be delayed. For the crafty Lapierre had no intentionwhatever of risking a meeting with MacNair in the heart of his owndomain. Neither had he any intention of journeying to Snare Lake forthe purpose of securing evidence against MacNair to be used in a courtof law. His plans for crushing MacNair's power included no aid fromconstituted authority. 

He noted with keen satisfaction that the girl's hatred for MacNair hadbeen greatly intensified, not so much by the attack upon her school, asby the stories she heard from the lips of Indians who passed back andforth upon the river. The posting of those Indians had been a happybit of forethought on the part of Lapierre; and their stories had lostnothing in LeFroy's interpretation. 

Lapierre contrived to make the succeeding days busy ones. Byarrangement with Chloe, a system of credits had been established, andfrom daylight to dark he was busy about the storehouse, paying off andoutfitting his canoemen, who were to fare North upon the trap-linesuntil the breaking up of the ice in the spring would call them oncemore to the lakes and the rivers, to move Lapierre's freight, handlehis furs, and deliver his contraband whiskey. 

Each evening Lapierre repaired to the cottage, and LeFroy at his postin the storehouse nodded sagely to himself as the notes of the girl'srich contralto floated loud and clear above the twang of theaccompanying guitar. 

Always the quarter-breed spoke eagerly to Chloe of the proposed trip toSnare Lake, and bitterly he regretted the enforced delay incident tooutfitting the trappers. And always, with the skill and finesse of theborn intriguer, by a smile, a suggestion, or an adroitly wordedquestion, he managed to foster and to intensify her hatred for BruteMacNair. 

On the sixth day after their departure, the scouts returned from theNorthward and reported that MacNair had travelled for many days acrossthe barrens, in search of the caribou herds. Followed, then, anotherconference with LeFroy. The remaining canoemen were outfitted withsurprising celerity. And at midnight a big freight canoe, loaded tothe gunwale with an assortment of cheap knives and hatchets, bolts ofgay-coloured cloth, and cheaper whiskey broke through the everthickening skim of shore ice, and headed Northward under the personaldirection of that master of all whiskey runners, Louis LeFroy. 

The next day Lapierre, with a great show of eagerness, informed Chloethat he was ready to undertake the journey to Snare Lake. Enthusiastically the girl set about her preparation, and the followingmorning, accompanied by Big Lena and Lapierre, took her place in acanoe manned by four lean-shouldered paddlers. 

Just below "the narrows, " on the northeastern shore of Snare Lake, andalmost upon the site of Old Fort Enterprise, erected and occupied byLieutenant, later Sir John Franklin during the second winter of hisfirst Arctic expedition, Bob MacNair had built his fort. The fortitself differed in no important particular from many of the log tradingforts of the Hudson Bay Company. Grouped about the long, low building, within the enclosure of the log stockade, were the cabins of Indianswho had forsaken the vicissitudes of the lean, barren grounds andattached themselves permanently to MacNair's colony. 

Under his tutelage, they learned to convert the work of their handsinto something more nearly approaching the comforts of existence thananything they had ever known. Where, as trappers of fur, they hadsucceeded, by dint of untold hardship and privation and suffering, inobtaining the barest necessities of life from the great fur company, they now found themselves housed in warm, comfortable cabins, eatinggood food, and clothing their bodies, and the bodies of their wives andchildren, in thick, warm clothing that defied the rigours of the Arcticwinters. 

While to the credit of each man, upon MacNair's books, stood an amountin tokens of "made beaver, " which to any trapper in all the Northlandwould have spelled wealth beyond wildest dreams. And so they came torespect this stern, rugged man who dealt with them fairly--to love him, and also to fear him. And upon Snare Lake his word became the law, from which there was no appeal. Tender as a woman in sickness, counting no cost or hardship too dear in the rendering of assistance tothe needy, he was at the same time hard and unbending toward wilfuloffenders, and a very real terror to the enemies of his people. 

He had killed men for selling whiskey to his Indians. And those of hisown people who drank the whiskey, he had flogged withdog-whips--floggings that had been administered in no half-hearted oruncertain manner, and that had ceased only upon the tiring of his arm. And many there were among his Indians who could testify that the armwas slow to tire. 

To this little colony, upon the fourth day after his departure fromChloe Elliston's school on the Yellow Knife, came LeFroy with hisfreighted canoe. And because it was not his first trip among them, allknew his mission. 

It so happened that at the time MacNair left for the barren grounds, Sotenah, the leader of the young men, the orator who had lauded MacNairto the skies and counselled a summary wiping out of Chloe Elliston'sschool, chanced to be laid up with an injury to his foot. And, as hecould not accompany the hunters, MacNair placed him in charge of thefort during his absence. Upon his back Sotenah carried scars of manyfloggings. And the memory of these remained with him long after thedeadly effects of the cheap whiskey that begot them had passed away. And now, as he stood upon the shore of the lake surrounded by the oldmen, and the boys who were not yet permitted to take the caribou trail, his face was sullen and black as he greeted LeFroy. For the feel ofthe bite of the gut-lash was strong upon him. 

"_B'jo'_! _B'jo'_! _Nitchi_!" greeted LeFroy, smiling into thescowling face. 

"_B'jo'_!" grunted the younger man with evident lack of enthusiasm. 

"_Kah_ MacNair?"

The Indian returned a noncommittal shrug. 

LeFroy repeated his question, at the same time taking from his pocket acheap clasp-knife which he extended toward the Indian. The otherregarded the knife in silence; then, reaching out his hand, took itfrom LeFroy and examined it gravely. 

"How much?" he asked. LeFroy laughed. 

"You ke'p, " he said, and stepping to the canoe, threw back the blanket, exposing to the covetous eyes of the assembled Indians the huge pile ofsimilar knives, and the hatchets, and the bolts of gay-coloured goods. 

A few moments of adroit questioning sufficed to acquaint LeFroy withMacNair's prices for similar goods; and the barter began. 

Where MacNair and the Hudson Bay Company charged ten "skins, " or "madebeaver, " for an article, LeFroy charged five, or four, or even three, until the crowding Indians became half-crazed with the excitement ofbarter. And while this excitement was at its height, with scarcelyhalf of his goods disposed of, LeFroy suddenly declared he would sellno more, and stepping into the canoe pushed out from the bank. 

He turned a deaf ear to the frantic clamourings of those who had beenunable to secure the wonderful bargains, and ordering his canoemen topaddle down the lake some two or three hundred yards, deliberatelyprepared to camp. Hardly had his canoe touched the shore before he wasagain surrounded by the clamouring mob. Whereupon he faced them and, striking an attitude, harangued them in their own tongue. 

He had come, he said, hoping to find MacNair and to plead with him todeal fairly with his people. It is true that MacNair pays more for thelabour of their hands than the company does for their furs, and indoing so he has proved himself a friend of the Indians. But he canwell afford to pay more. Is not the _pil chickimin_--the gold--worthmore even than the finest of skins?

He reached beneath the blankets and, drawing forth one of the cheapknives, held it aloft. For years, he told them, the great fur companyhas been robbing the Indians. Has been charging them two, three, four, and even ten times the real value of the goods they offer in barter. But the Indians have not known this. Even he, LeFroy, did not know ituntil the _kloshe kloochman_--the good white woman--came into the Northand built a school at the mouth of the Yellow Knife. She is the realfriend of the Indians. For she brought goods, even more goods than arefound in the largest of the Hudson Bay posts, and she sells them atprices unheard of--at their real value in the land of the white man. 

"See now!" he cried, holding the knife aloft, "in the store of MacNair, for this knife you will pay eight skins. Who will buy it for two?"

A dozen Indians crowded forward, and the knife passed into the hands ofan old squaw. Other knives and hatchets changed hands, and yards ofbolt goods were sold at prices that caused the black eyes of thepurchasers to glitter with greed. 

"Why do you stay here?" cried LeFroy suddenly. "Oh! my people, why doyou remain to toil all your lives in the mines--to be robbed of thework of your hands? Come to the Yellow Knife and join those who arealready enjoying the fruits of their labours! Where all have plenty, and none are asked to toil and dig in the dirt of the mines. Where allthat is required is to sit in the school and learn from books, andbecome wise in the ways of the white man. "

The half-breed paused, swaying his body to and fro as he gazed intentlyinto the eyes of the greed-crazed horde. Suddenly his voice arosealmost to a shriek. "You are free men--dwellers in a free land! Whois MacNair, that he should hold you in servitude? Why should you toilto enrich him? Why should you bow down beneath his tyranny? Who is_he_ to make laws that you shall obey?" He shifted his gaze to theupturned face of Sotenah. "Who is he to say: 'You shall drink nofirewater'? And who is he to flog you when you break that law? I tellyou in the great storehouse on the Yellow Knife is firewater for all!The white man's drink! The drink that makes men strong--and happy--andwise as gods!"

He called loudly. Two of his canoemen rolled a cask to his feet, and, upending it, broached in the head. Seizing a tin cup, LeFroy plungedit into the cask and drank with a great smacking of lips. Then, refilling the cup, he passed it to Sotenah. 

"See!" he cried, "it is a present from the _kloshe kloochman_ to thepeople of MacNair! The people who are down-trodden and oppressed!"Under the spell of the man's words, all fear of the wrath of MacNairvanished, and Sotenah greedily seized the cup and drank, while abouthim crowded the others rendering the night hideous with their frenziedcries of exultation. 

The cask was quickly emptied, and another broached. Old men, women, and children, all drank--and fighting, and leaping, and dancing, andyelling, returned to drink again. For, never within the memory of theoldest, had any Indian drunk the white man's whiskey for which he hadnot paid. 

Darkness fell. Fires were lighted upon the beach, and the wild orgycontinued. Other casks were opened, and the drink-crazed Indiansyelled and fought and sang in a perfect frenzy of delirium. Fire-brands were hurled high into the air, to fall whirling among thecabins. And it was these whirling brands that riveted the attention ofthe occupants of the big canoe that approached swiftly along the shorefrom the direction of the Yellow Knife. LeFroy had timed his workwell. In the bow, Lapierre, with a grim smile upon his thin lips, watched the arcs of the whirling brands, while from their positionamidship, Chloe and Big Lena stared fascinated upon the scene. 

"What are they doing?" cried the girl in amazement. Lapierre turnedand smiled into her eyes. 

"We have come, " he answered, "at a most opportune time. You are aboutto see MacNair's Indians at their worst. For they seem to be even moredrunk than usual. It is MacNair's way--to make them drunk while helooks on and laughs. "

"Do you mean, " cried the girl in horror, "that they are drunk?"

Lapierre smiled. "Very drunk, " he answered dryly. "It is the only wayMacNair can hold them--by allowing them free license at frequentintervals. For well the Indians know that nowhere else in all theNorth would this thing be permitted. Therefore, they remain withMacNair. "

The canoe had drawn close now, and the figures of the Indians wereplainly discernible. Many were lying sprawled upon the ground, whileothers leaped and danced in the red flare of the flames. At frequentintervals, above the sound of the frenzied shouts and weird chants, arose the sharp rattle of shots, as the Indians fired recklessly intothe air. 

At a signal from Lapierre the canoemen ceased paddling. Chloe's eyesflashed an inquiry, and Lapierre shook his head. 

"We can venture no closer, " he explained. "At such times theirdeviltry knows no bounds. They would make short shrift of anyone whowould venture among them this night. "

Chloe nodded. "I have no wish to go farther!" she cried. "I have seenenough, and more than enough! When this night's work shall becomeknown in Ottawa, its echo shall ring from Labrador to the Yukon untilthroughout all Canada the name of MacNair shall be hated and despised!"

At the words, Lapierre glanced into her flushed face, and, removing hishat, bowed reverently. "God grant that your prophecy may be fulfilled. And I speak, not because of any hatred for MacNair, but from a heartoverflowing with love and compassion for my people. For their welfare, it is my earnest prayer that this man's just punishment shall not longbe delayed. "

While he was yet speaking, from the midst of the turmoil red flamesshot high into the air. The yelling increased tenfold, and thefrenzied horde surged toward the walls of the stockade. The cabins ofthe Indians were burning! Wider and higher flared the fire, and louderand fiercer swelled the sounds of yelling and the firing of rifles. The walls of the stockade ignited. The fire was eating its way towardthe long, log storehouse. Instantly through the girl's mind flashedthe memory of that other night when the sky glowed red, and the crashof rifles mingled with the hoarse roar of flames. She gazed infascination as the fire licked and curled above the roof of thestorehouse. Upon the shore, even the canoes were burning. 

Suddenly a wild shriek was borne to her ears. The firing of gunsceased abruptly, and around the corner of the burning storehouse dasheda figure of terror, hatless and coatless, with long hair streamingwildly in the firelight. Tall, broad, and gaunt it appeared in thelight of the flaring flames, and instantly Chloe recognized the form ofBob MacNair. Lapierre also recognized it, and gasped audibly. For atthat moment he knew MacNair should have been far across the barrens onthe trail of the caribou herd. 

"Look! Look!" cried the girl. "What is he doing?" And watched inhorror as the big man charged among the Indians, smashing, driving andkicking his way through the howling, rum-crazed horde. At everylashing blow of his fist, every kick of his high-laced boot, men wentdown. Others reeled drunkenly from his path screaming aloud in theirfright; while across the open space in the foreground four or five mencould be seen dashing frantically for the protection of the timber. MacNair ripped the gun from the hand of a reeling Indian and, throwingit to his shoulder, fired. Of those who ran, one dropped, rose to hisknees, and sank backward. MacNair fired again, and another crashedforward, and rolled over and over upon the ground. 

Lapierre watched with breathless interest while the others gained theshelter of the timber. He wondered whether one of the two men who fellwas LeFroy. 

"Oh!" cried Chloe in horror. "He's killing them!"

Lapierre made a swift sign to his paddlers, and the canoe shot behind alow sand-point where, in response to a tense command, the canoementurned its bow southward; and, for the second time, Chloe Ellistonfound herself being driven by willing hands southward upon Snare Lake. 

"He pounded--and kicked--and beat them!" sobbed the girl hysterically. "And two of them he killed!"

Lapierre nodded. "Yes, " he answered sadly, "and he will kill more ofthem. It seems that this time they got beyond even his control. Forthe destruction of his buildings and his goods, he will take his tollin lives and in the sufferings of his Indians. "

While the canoe shot southward through the darkness, Chloe sat huddledupon her blankets. And as she watched the dull-red glow fade from thesky above MacNair's burning fort, her heart cried out for vengeanceagainst this brute of the North. 

One hour, two hours, the canoe plowed the black waters of the lake, andthen, because men must rest, Lapierre reluctantly gave the order tocamp, and the tired canoemen turned the bow shoreward. 

Hardly had they taken a dozen strokes when the canoe ground sharplyagainst the thin, shore ice. There was the sound of ripping bark, where the knifelike edge of the ice tore through the side of the frailcraft. Water gushed in, and Lapierre, stifling a curse that rose tohis lips, seized a paddle, and leaning over the bow began to chopfrantically at the ice. Two of the canoemen with their paddles heldher head on, while the other two, with the help of Chloe and Big Lenaendeavoured to stay the inrush of water with blankets and fragments ofclothing. 

Progress was slow. The ice thickened as they neared the shore, andLapierre's paddle-blade, battered upon its point and edges to a soft, fibrous pulp, thudded softly upon the ice without breaking it. Hethrew the paddle overboard and seized another. A few more yards werewon, but the shore loomed black and forbidding, and many yards away. Despite the utmost efforts of the women and the two canoemen, the watergained rapidly. Lapierre redoubled his exertion, chopping and stabbingat the ever thickening shore-ice. And then suddenly his paddle crashedthrough, and with a short cry of relief he rose to his feet, and leapedinto the black water, where he sank only to his middle. The canoemenfollowed. And the canoe, relieved of the bulk of its burden, floatedmore easily. 

Slowly they pushed shoreward through the shallow water, the menbreaking the ice before them. And a few minutes later, wet and chilledto the bone, they stepped onto the gravel. 

Within the shelter of a small thicket a fire was built, and while themen returned to examine the damaged canoe, the two women wrung outtheir dripping garments and, returning them wet, huddled close to thetiny blaze. The men returned to the fire, where a meal was preparedand eaten in silence. As he ate, Chloe noticed that Lapierre seemedill at ease. 

"Did you repair the canoe?" she asked. The man shook his head. 

"No. It is damaged beyond any thought of repair. We removed the foodand such of its contents as are necessary, and, loading it with rocks, sank it in the lake. "

"Sank it in the lake!" cried the girl in amazement. 

"Yes, " answered Lapierre. "For even if it were not damaged, it wouldbe of no further use to us. Tonight the lake will freeze. "

"What are we going to do?" cried the girl. 

"There is only one thing to do, " answered Lapierre quickly. "Walk tothe school. It is not such a long trail--a hundred miles or so. Andyou can take it easy. You have plenty of provisions. "

"I!" cried the girl. "And what will you do?"

"It is necessary, " answered the man, "that I should make a forcedmarch. "

"You are going to leave me?"

Lapierre smiled at the evident note of alarm in her voice. "I am goingto take two of the canoemen and return in all haste to your school. Doyou realize that MacNair, now that he has lost his winter provisions, will stop at nothing to obtain more?"

"He would not dare!" cried the girl, her eyes flashing. 

Lapierre laughed. "You do not know MacNair. You, personally, he wouldnot venture to molest. He will doubtless try to buy supplies from youor from the Hudson Bay Company. But, in the meantime, while he is uponthis errand, his Indians, with no one to hold them in check, andknowing that the supplies are in your storehouse, will swoop down uponit, and your own Indians, without a leader, will fall an easy prey tothe hungry horde. "

"But surely, " cried the girl, "LeFroy is capable----"

"Possibly, if he were at the school, " interrupted Lapierre. "Butunfortunately the day before we ourselves departed, I sent LeFroy uponan important mission to the eastward. I think you will agree with meupon the importance of the mission when I tell you that, as I swung outof the mouth of Slave River at the head of the canoe brigade, I saw afast canoe slipping stealthily along the shore to the eastward. Inthat canoe, with the aid of my binoculars, I made out two men whom Ihave long suspected of being engaged in the nefarious and hellishbusiness of peddling whiskey among the Indians. I knew it was uselessto try to overtake them with my heavily loaded canoe, and so upon myarrival at the school, as soon as we had concluded the outfitting ofthe trappers, I dispatched LeFroy to hunt these men down, to destroyany liquor found in their possession, and to deal with them as he sawfit. "

He paused and gazed steadily into the girl's face. "This may seem toyou a lawless and high-handed proceeding, Miss Elliston, " he went on;"but you have just witnessed one exhibition of the tragedy that whiskeycan work among my people. In my opinion, the end justifies the means. "

The girl regarded him with shining eyes. "Indeed it does!" she cried. "Oh, there is nothing--no punishment--too severe for such brutes, suchdevils, as these! I--I hope LeFroy will catch them. Ihope--almost--he will kill them. "

Lapierre nodded. "Yes, Miss Elliston, " he answered gravely, "one couldsometimes almost wish so, but I have forbidden it. The taking of ahuman life is a serious matter; and in the North the exigencies of themoment all too frequently make this imperative. As a last resort onlyshould we kill. "

"You are right, " echoed the girl. "Only after the scene we have justwitnessed, it seemed that I myself could kill deliberately, and be gladI killed. Truly the North breeds savagery. For I, too, have killed onthe spur of the moment!" The words fell rapidly from her lips, and shecried out as in physical pain. "And to think that I killed in defenceof _him_! Oh, if I had let the Indian shoot that night, all this"--shewaved her hand to the northward--"would never have happened. "

"Very true, Miss Elliston, " answered Lapierre softly. "But do notblame yourself. Under the circumstances, you could not have doneotherwise. "

As he talked, two of the canoemen made up light packs from the outfitof the wrecked canoe. Seeing that they had concluded, Lapierre arose, and taking Chloe's hand in both of his, looked straight into her eyes. 

"Good-by, " he said simply. "These Indians will conduct you in safetyto your school. " And, without waiting for a reply, turned and followedthe two canoemen into the brush. 

Chloe sat for a long time staring into the flames of the tiny firebefore creeping between her damp blankets. Despite the utterbody-weariness of her long canoe-trip, the girl slept but fitfully inher cold bed. 

In the early grey of the morning she started up nervously. Surely asound had awakened her. She heard it distinctly now, the sound ofapproaching footsteps. She strained to locate the sound, and instantlyrealized it was not the tread of moccasined feet. She threw off thefrost-stiffened blankets and leaped to her feet, shivering in the keenair of the biting dawn. 

The sounds of the footsteps grew louder, plainer, as though someone hadturned suddenly from the shore and approached the thicket with long, heavy strides. With muscles tense and heart bounding wildly the girlwaited. Then, scarce ten feet from her side, the thick scrub partedwith a vicious swish, and a man, hatless, glaring, and white-faced, stood before her. The man was MacNair. 

CHAPTER XV

"ARREST THAT MAN!"

Seconds passed--tense, portentous seconds--as the two stood facing eachother over the dead ashes of the little fire. Seconds in which thewhite drawn features of the man engraved themselves indelibly uponChloe Elliston's brain. She noted the knotted muscles of the clenchedhands and the glare of the sunken eyes. Noted, also, the cringingfear-stricken forms of the two Indians, who had awakened and laycowering upon their blankets. And Big Lena, whose pale-blue, fishlikeeyes stared first at one and then the other from out a face absolutelydevoid of expression. 

Suddenly a fierce, consuming anger welled into the girl's heart, andwords fell from her lips in a veritable hiss of scorn: "Have you cometo kill me, too?"

"By God, it would be a good thing for the North if I should kill you!"

"A good thing for MacNair, you mean!" taunted the girl. "Yes, I thinkit would. Well, there is nothing to hinder you. Of course, you wouldhave to kill these, also. " She indicated Big Lena and the Indians. "But what are mere lives to you?"

"They are nothing to me when the fate of my people is at stake! And atthis very moment their fate--their whole future--the future of theirchildren and their children's children--is at stake, as it has neverbeen at stake before. Many times in my life have I faced crises: butnever such a crisis as this. And always I have won, regardless ofcost--but the cost only _I_ have ever known. "

His eyes glared, and he seemed a madman in his berserk rage. He drovea huge fist into his upturned palm and fairly shouted his words: "I amMacNair! And if there is a God in heaven, I will win! From thismoment, it is my life or Lapierre's! Since last night's outrage therecan be no truce--no quibbling--no parleying--no half-way measures! Myfriends are my friends, and his friends are my enemies! The war ison--and it will be a fight to the finish. A fight that may welldisrupt the North!" He shook his clenched fist before the face of thegirl. "I have taken the man-trail! I am MacNair! And at the end ofthat trail will lie a dead man--myself or Pierre Lapierre!"

"And at the beginning of the trail lie _two_ dead men, " sneered Chloe. "Those who started for the timber----"

"And, by God, if necessary, the trail will be _paved with dead men_!For Lapierre, the day of reckoning is at hand. "

Chloe took a step forward, and with blazing eyes stood trembling withanger before the man. "And how about _your own_ day of reckoning? Youhave told me that I am a fool; but it is you who are the fool! Youkiller of helpless men! You debaucher of women and children! Youtrader in souls! As you say, the day of reckoning is at hand--not forLapierre, but for _you_! Until this day you have not taken meseriously. I _have_ been a fool--a blind, trusting fool. You havesucceeded, in spite of what I have heard--in spite of my betterjudgment--in spite even of what I have seen, in making me believe that, possibly you had been misunderstood; had been painted blacker than youreally are. At times I almost _believed_ in you; but I have sincelearned enough from the mouths of your own Indians to convince me of myfolly. And after what I saw last night--" She paused in very horrorof the thought, and MacNair glared into her outraged eyes. 

"You saw that? You stood by and witnessed the ruination of my Indians?Deliberately watched them changed from sober, industrious, simple-hearted children of the wild into a howling, drink-crazed hordeof beasts that thirsted for blood--tore at each other's throats--and, in the frenzy of their madness, burned their own homes, and theirwinter's supplies and provisions? You stood by and saw them gluttedwith the whiskey from your storehouse--by your own paid creatures----"

"Whiskey from my storehouse!" The girl's voice rose to a scream, andMacNair interrupted her savagely:

"Aye, whiskey from your storehouse! Brought in by Lapierre, and byLapierre cunningly and freely given out to my Indians. "

"You are crazy! You are mad! You do not know what you are saying?But if you _do_ know, you are the most consummate liar on the face ofthe earth! Of all things absurd! Is it possible that you hope by anysuch preposterous and flimsy fabrication to escape the punishment whichwill surely and swiftly be meted out to you? Will, you tell that tothe Mounted? And will you tell it to the judge and the jury? Whatwill they say when I have told my story, and have had it corroboratedby your own Indians--those Indians who have fled to my school to seek ahaven of refuge from your tyranny? I have my manifest. My goods wereinspected and passed by the Mounted----"

"Inspected and passed! And why? Because they were _your_ goods, andthe men of the Mounted have yet to suspect you. The inspection wasperfunctorily made. And as for the manifest--I did not say it was yourwhiskey. I said, 'whiskey from your storehouse. ' It was Lapierre'swhiskey. And he succeeded in running it in by the boldest, and at thesame time the cleverest and safest method--disguised as your freight. Tell me this: Did you check your pieces upon their arrival at yourstorehouse?"

"No; Lapierre did that, or LeFroy. "

"And Lapierre, having first ascertained that I was far on the cariboutrail, succeeded in slipping the whiskey to my Indians, but he----"

"Mr. Lapierre was with me! Accuse him and you accuse me, also. Hebrought me here because I wished to see for myself the condition ofyour Indians--the condition of which I had so often heard. "

"Was LeFroy, also, with you?"

"LeFroy was away upon a mission, and that mission was to capture twoothers of your ilk--two whiskey-runners!"

MacNair laughed harshly. "Good LeFroy!" he exclaimed in derision. "Great God, you are a fool! You yourself saw LeFroy and his satellitesrushing wildly for the shelter of the timber, when I unexpectedlyappeared among them. " The light of exultation leaped into his eyes. "I killed two of them, but LeFroy escaped. Lapierre timed his workwell. And had it not been that one of my Indians, who was a spy inLapierre's camp, learned of his plan and followed me across thebarrens, Lapierre would have had ample time, after the destruction ofmy fort, to have scattered my Indians to the four winds. When Ilearned of his plot, I forced the trail as I never had forced a trail, in the hope of arriving in time to prevent the catastrophe. I reachedthe fort too late to save my Indians from your human wolf-pack, theirhomes from the flames, and my buildings and my property fromdestruction. But, thank God, it is not too late to wreck my vengeanceupon the enemies of my people! For the trail is hot, and I will followit, if need be, to the end of the earth. "

"Your love for your Indians is, indeed, touching. I witnessed ademonstration of that love last night, when you battered and kicked andhurled them about in their drunken and helpless condition. But, tellme, what will become of them while you are following your trail ofblood--the trail you so fondly imagine will terminate in the death ofLapierre, but which will, as surely and inevitably as justice itself, lead you to a prison cell, if not the gallows?"

MacNair regarded the girl almost fiercely. "I must leave my Indians, "he answered, "for the present, to their own devices. For the simplereason that I cannot be in two places at the same time. "

"But their supplies were burned! They will starve!" cried the girl. "It would seem that one who really loved his Indians would have hisfirst thought for their welfare. But no; you prefer to take the trailand kill men; men who may at some future time tell their story upon thewitness-stand; a story that will not sound pretty in the telling, andthat will mark the crash of your reign of tyranny. 'Safety first' isyour slogan, and your Indians may starve while you murder men. " Thegirl paused and suddenly became conscious that MacNair was regardingher with a strange look in his eyes. And at his next words she couldscarcely believe her ears. 

"Will you care for my Indians?"

The question staggered her. "What!" she managed to gasp. 

"Just what I said, " answered MacNair gruffly. "Will you care for myIndians until such time as I shall return to them--until I have riddedthe North of Lapierre?"

"Do you mean, " cried the astonished girl, "will I care for yourIndians--the same Indians who attacked my school--who only last nightfought like fiends among themselves, and burned their own homes?"

"Just that!" answered MacNair. "The Indian who warned me of Lapierre'splot told me, also, of the arrival of your supplies--sufficient, hesaid, to feed the whole North. You will not lose by it. Name your ownprice, and I shall pay whatever you ask. "

"Price!" flashed the girl. "Do you think I would take your gold--thegold that has been wrung from the hearts' blood of your Indians?"

"On your own terms, then, " answered MacNair. "Will you take them?Surely this arrangement should be to your liking. Did you not tell meyourself, upon the occasion of our first meeting, that you intended touse every means in your power to induce my Indians to attend yourschool? That you would teach them that they are free? That they oweallegiance and servitude to no man? That you would educate and showthem they were being robbed and cheated and forced into serfdom? Thatyou intended to appeal to their better natures, to their manhood andwomanhood? I think those were your words. Did you not say that? Anddid you mean it? Or was it the idle boast of an angry woman?"

Chloe interrupted him. "Yes, I said that, and I meant it! And I meanit now!"

"You have your chance, " growled MacNair, "I impose no restrictions. Ishall command them to obey you; even to attend your school, if youwish! You will hardly have time to do them much harm. As I told you, the North is not ready for your education. But I know that you arehonest. You are a fool, and the time is not far distant when youyourself will realize this; when you will learn that you have becomethe unwitting dupe of one of the shrewdest and most diabolicalscoundrels that ever drew breath. Again I tell you that some day youand I shall be friends! At this moment you hate me. But I know it isthrough ignorance you hate. I have small patience with your ignorance;but, also, at this moment you are the only person in all the North withwhom I would trust my Indians. Lapierre, from now on, will be pastcharming them. I shall see to it that he is kept so busy in the matterof saving his own hide that he will have scant time for deviltry. "

Still Chloe appeared to hesitate. And through MacNair's mind flashedthe memory of the rapier-blade eyes that stared from out the dull goldframe of the portrait that hung upon the wall of the littlecottage---eyes that were the eyes of the girl before him. 

"Well, " he asked with evident impatience, "are you _afraid_ of theseIndians?"

The flashing eyes of the girl told him that the shot had struck home. "No!" she cried. "I am not afraid! Send your Indians to me, if youwill; and when you send them, bid good-by to them forever. "

MacNair nodded. "I will send them, " he answered, and, turning abruptlyupon his heel, disappeared into the scrub. 

The journey down the Yellow Knife consumed six days, and it was ajourney fraught with many hardships for Chloe Elliston, unaccustomed asshe was to trail travel. The little-used trail, following closely thebank of the stream, climbed low, rock-ribbed ridges, traversed blackspruce swamps, and threaded endlessly in and out of the scrub timber. Nevertheless, the girl held doggedly to the slow pace set by thecanoemen. 

When at last, foot-sore and weary, with nerves a-jangle, and with everymuscle in her body protesting with its own devilishly ingenious acheagainst the overstrain of the long, rough miles and the chill misery ofdamp blankets, she arrived at the school, Lapierre was nowhere to befound. For the wily quarter-breed, knowing that MacNair wouldinstantly suspect the source of the whiskey, had, upon his arrival, removed the remaining casks from the storehouse, and conveyed them withall haste to his stronghold on Lac du Mort. 

Upon her table in the cottage, Chloe found a brief note to the effectthat Lapierre had been, forced to hasten to the eastward to aid LeFroyin dealing with the whiskey-runners. The girl had scant time to thinkof Lapierre, however, for upon the morning after her arrival, MacNairappeared, accompanied by a hundred or more dejected and woe-begoneIndians. Despite the fact that Chloe had known them only as fierceroisterers she was forced to admit that they looked harmless andpeaceful enough, under the chastening effect of a week of starvation. 

MacNair wasted no time, but striding up to the girl, who stood upon theveranda of her cottage, plunged unceremoniously into the business athand. 

"Do not misunderstand me, " he began gruffly. "I did not bring myIndians here to receive the benefits of your education, nor as a sop toyour anger, nor for any other reason than to procure for them food andshelter until such time as I myself can provide for them. If they weretrappers this would be unnecessary. But they have long since abandonedthe trap-lines, and in the whole village there could not be foundenough traps to supply one tenth of their number with the actualnecessities of life. I have sent runners to the young men upon thebarren grounds, with orders to continue the caribou kill and bring themeat to you here. I have given my Indians their instructions. Theywill cause you no trouble, and will be subject absolutely to yourcommands. And now, I must be on my way. I must pick up the trail ofLapierre. And when I return, I shall confront you with evidence thatwill prove to you beyond a doubt that the words I have spoken are true!"

"And I will confront you, " retorted the girl, "with evidence that willplace you behind prison bars for the rest of your life!" Again Chloesaw in the grey eyes the twinkle that held more than the suspicion of asmile. 

"I think I would make but a poor prisoner, " the man answered. "But ifI am to be a prisoner I warn you that I will run the prison. I amMacNair!" Something in the man's look--he was gazing straight into hereyes with a peculiar intense gaze--caused the girl to start, while asudden indescribable feeling of fear, of helplessness before this man, flashed over her. The feeling passed in an instant and she sneeredboldly into MacNair's face. 

"My, how you hate yourself!" she cried. "And how long is it, Mr. BruteMacNair--" was it fancy, or did the man wince at the emphasis of thename? She repeated, with added emphasis, "Mr. Brute MacNair, since youhave deemed it worth your while to furnish me with evidence? You toldme once, I believe, that you cared nothing for my opinion. Is itpossible that you hope at this late day to flatter me with my ownimportance?"

MacNair, in no wise perturbed, regarded her gravely. "No, " he answered"It is not that, it is--" He paused as if at a loss for words. "I donot know why, " he continued, "unless, perhaps, it is because--becauseyou have no fear of me. That you do not fear to take your life intoyour hands in defence of what you think is right. It may be that Ihave learned a certain respect for you. Certainly I do not pity you. At times you have made me very angry with your foolish blundering, until I remember it is honest blundering, and that some day you willknow the North, and will know that north of sixty, men are not measuredby your little rule of thumb. Always I have gone my way, caring nomore for the approval of others than I have for their hatred orscoffing. I know the North! Why should I care for the opinion ofothers? If they do not know, so much the worse for them. Thereputation of being a fool injures no one. Had I not been thought afool by the men of the Hudson Bay Company they would not have sold methe barren grounds whose sands are loaded with gold. "

"And yet you said _I_ was a fool, " interrupted Chloe. "According toyour theory, that fact should redound to my credit. "

MacNair answered without a smile. "I did not say that _being_ a foolinjured no one. You _are_ a fool. Of your reputation I know nothing, nor care. " He turned abruptly on his heel and walked to thestorehouse, leaving the girl, speechless with anger, standing upon theveranda of the cottage, as she watched his swinging shoulders disappearfrom sight around the corner of the log building. 

With flushed face, Chloe turned toward the river, and instantly herattention centred upon the figure of a man, who swung out of the timberand approached across the clearing in long, easy strides. She regardedthe man closely. Certainly he was no one she had ever seen before. Hewas very near now, and at the distance of a few feet, paused and bowed, as he swept the Stetson from his head. The girl's heart gave a wildbound of joy. The man wore the uniform of the Mounted!

"Miss Elliston?" he asked. 

"Yes, " answered Chloe, as her glance noted the clear-cut, almost boyishlines of the weather-bronzed face. 

"I am Corporal Ripley, ma'am, at your service. I happened on a FortRae Injun--a Dog Rib, a few days since, and he told me some kind of ayarn about a band of Yellow Knives that had attacked your post sometime during the summer. I couldn't get much out of him because hecould speak only a few words of English, and I can't speak any Dog Rib. Besides, you can't go much on what an Indian tells you. When you cometo sift down their dope, it generally turns out to be nine parts liesand the other part divided between truth, superstition, and guess-work. Constable Darling, at Fort Resolution, said he'd received no complaint, so I didn't hurry through. "

With a swift glance toward the storehouse, into which MacNair haddisappeared, Chloe motioned the man into the cottage. "The--the attackwas nothing, " she hastened to assure him. "But there is something--acomplaint that I wish to make against a man who is, and has been foryears, doing all in his power to debauch and brutalize the Indians ofthe North. " The girl paced nervously up and down as she spoke, and shenoted that the youthful officer leaned forward expectantly, his wideboyish eyes narrowed to slits. 

"Yes, " he urged eagerly, "who is this man? And have you got theevidence to back your charge? For I take it from your words you intendto make a charge. "

"Yes, " answered Chloe. "I do intend to make a charge, and I have myevidence. The man is MacNair. Brute MacNair he is called----"

"What! MacNair of Snare Lake--Bob MacNair of the barren grounds?"

"Yes, Bob MacNair of the barren grounds. " A moment of silence followedher words. A silence during which the officer's face assumed atroubled expression. 

"You are sure there is no mistake?" he asked at length. 

"There is no mistake!" flashed the girl. "With my own eyes I have seenenough to convict a dozen men!"

Even as she spoke, a form passed the window, and a heavy tread soundedon the veranda. Stepping quickly to the door, Chloe flung it open, andpointing toward MacNair, who stood, rifle in hand, cried; "Officer, arrest that man!"

Corporal Ripley, who had risen to his feet, stood gazing from one tothe other; while MacNair, speechless, stared straight into the eyes ofthe girl. 

CHAPTER XVI

MACNAIR GOES TO JAIL

The silence in the little room became almost painful. MacNair utteredno word as his glance strayed from the flushed, excited face of thegirl to the figure of Corporal Ripley, who stood hat in hand, gazingfrom one to the other with eyes plainly troubled by doubt andperplexity. 

"Well, why don't you do something?" cried the girl, at length. "Itseems to me if I were a man I could think of something to do besidesstand and gape!"

Corporal Ripley cleared his throat. "Do I understand, " he beganstiffly, "that you intend to prefer certain charges againstMacNair--that you demand his arrest?"

"I should _think_ you would understand it!" retorted the girl. "I havetold you three or four times. "

The officer flushed slightly and shifted the hat from his right to hisleft hand. 

"Just step inside, MacNair, " he said, and then to the girl: "I'lllisten to you now, if you please. You must make specific charges, youknow--not just hearsay. Arresting a man in this country is a seriousmatter, Miss Elliston. We are seven hundred miles from a jail, and thelaw expects us to use discretion in making an arrest. It don't do usany good at headquarters to bring in a man unless we can back up ourcharge with strong evidence, because the item of transportation ofwitnesses and prisoner may easily run up into big money. On the otherhand it's just as bad if we fail or delay in bringing a guilty man tobook. What we want is specific evidence. I don't tell you this todiscourage any just complaint, but only to show you that we've got tohave direct and specific evidence. Now, Miss Elliston, I'll hear whatyou've got to say. "

Chloe sank into a chair and motioned the others to be seated. "We mayas well sit down while we talk. I will try to tell you only the factsas I myself have seen them--only such as I could swear to on a witnessstand. " The officer bowed, and Chloe plunged directly into the subject. 

"In the first place, " she began, "when I brought my outfit in I noticedin the scows, certain pieces with the name of MacNair painted on theburlap. The rest of the outfit, I think, consisted wholly of my ownfreight. I wondered at the time who MacNair was, but didn't make anyinquiries until I happened to mention the matter to Mr. Lapierre. Thatwas on Slave River. Mr. Lapierre seemed very much surprised that anyof MacNair's goods should be in his scows. He examined the pieces andthen with an ax smashed them in. They contained whiskey. "

"And he destroyed it? Can you swear it was whiskey?" asked the officer. 

"Certainly, I can swear it was whiskey! I saw it and _smelled_ it. "

"Can you explain why Lapierre did not know of these pieces, until youcalled his attention to them?"

Chloe hesitated a moment and tapped nervously on the table with herfingers. "Yes, " she answered, "I can. Mr. Lapierre took charge of theoutfit only that morning. "

"Who was the boss scowman? Who took the scows down the Athabasca?"

"A man named Vermilion. He was a half-breed, I think. Anyway, he wasa horrible creature. "

"Where is Vermilion now?"

Again Chloe hesitated. "He is dead, " she answered. "Mr. Lapierre shothim. He shot him in self-defence, after Vermilion had shot anotherman. "

The officer nodded, and Chloe called upon Big Lena to corroborate thestatement that Lapierre had destroyed certain whiskey upon the bank ofSlave Lake. "Is that all?" asked the officer. 

"No, indeed!" answered Chloe. "That isn't all! Only last week, I wentto visit MacNair's fort on Snare Lake in company with Mr. Lapierre andLena, and four canoemen. We got there shortly after dark. Fires hadbeen built on the beach--many of them almost against the walls of thestockade. As we drew near, we heard loud yells and howlings thatsounded like the cries of animals, rather than of human beings. Weapproached very close to the shore where the figures of the Indianswere distinctly visible by the light of the leaping names. It was thenwe realized that a wild orgy of indescribable debauchery was inprogress. The Indians were raving drunk. Some lay upon the ground ina stupor--others danced and howled and threw fire-brands about inreckless abandon. 

"We dared not land, but held the canoe off shore and watched thehorrible scene. We had not long to wait before the inevitablehappened. The whirling fire-brands falling among the cabins andagainst the walls of the stockade started a conflagration, which soonspread to the storehouse. And then MacNair appeared on the scene, rushing madly among the Indians, striking, kicking, and hurling themabout. A few sought to save themselves by escaping to the timber. And, jerking a rifle from the hand of an Indian, MacNair fired twice atthe fleeing men. Two of them fell and the others escaped into thetimber. "

"You did not see any whiskey in the possession of these Indians?" askedCorporal Ripley. "You merely surmised they were drunk by theiractions?"

Chloe nodded. "Yes, " she admitted, "but certainly there can be nodoubt that they were drunk. Men who are not drunk do not----"

MacNair interrupted her. "They were drunk, " he said quietly, "verydrunk. "

"You admit that?" asked the officer in surprise. "I must warn you, MacNair, that anything you say may be used against you. " MacNairnodded. 

"And, as to the killing of the men, " continued Chloe, "I charge MacNairwith their murder. "

"Murder is a very serious charge, Miss Elliston. Let's go over thefacts again. You say you were in a canoe near the shore--you saw a manyou say was MacNair grab a rifle from an Indian and kill two men. Stopand think, now--it was night and you saw all this by firelight--are yousure the man who fired the shots was MacNair?"

"Absolutely!" cried the girl, with a trace of irritation. 

"It was I who shot, " interrupted MacNair. 

The officer regarded him curiously and again addressed the girl. "Oncemore, Miss Elliston, do you know that the men you saw fall are dead?Mere shooting won't sustain a charge of murder. "

Chloe hesitated. "No, " she admitted reluctantly. "I did not examinetheir dead bodies, if that is what you mean. But MacNair afterwardtold me that he killed them, and I can swear to having seen them fall. "

"The men are dead, " said MacNair. 

The officer stared in astonishment. Chloe also was puzzled by thefrank admission of the man, and she gazed into his face as thoughstriving to pierce its mask and discover an ulterior motive. MacNairreturned her gaze unflinchingly and again the girl felt anindescribable sense of smallness--of helplessness before this man ofthe North, whose very presence breathed strength and indomitableman-power. 

"Was it possible, " she wondered, "that he would dare to flaunt thisstrength in the very face of the law?" She turned to Corporal Ripley, who was making notes with a pencil in a little note-book. "Well, " sheasked, "is my evidence _specific_ enough to warrant this man's arrest?"

The officer nodded slowly. "Yes, " he answered gravely. "The evidencewarrants an arrest. Very probably several arrests. "

"You mean, " asked the girl, "that you think he may have--an accomplice?"

"No, Miss Elliston, I don't mean that. In spite of your evidence andhis own words, I don't think MacNair is guilty. There is somethingqueer here. I guess there is no doubt that whiskey has been run intothe territory, and that it has been supplied to the Indians. Youcharge MacNair with these crimes, and I've got to arrest him. "

Chloe was about to retort, when the officer interrupted her with agesture. 

"Just a moment, please, " he said quietly; "I'm not sure I can makemyself plain to you, but you see in the North we know something ofMacNair's work. Of what he has done in spite of the odds. We know theNorth needs men like MacNair. You claim to be a friend of the Indians. Do you realize that up on Snare Lake, right now, are a bunch of Indianswho depend on MacNair for their existence? MacNair's absence willcause suffering among them and even death. If his storehouse has beenburned, what are they going to eat? On your statements I've got toenter charges against MacNair. First and foremost the charge ofmurder. He will also be charged with importing liquor, having liquorin prohibited territory, smuggling whiskey, and supplying liquor to theIndians. 

"Now, Miss Elliston, for the good of those Indians on Snare Lake I wantyou to withdraw the charge of murder. The other offences are bailableones, and in my judgment he should be allowed to return to his Indians. Then, when his trial comes up at the spring assizes, the charge ofmurder can be placed against him. I'll bet a year's pay, MacNair isn'tto blame. In the meantime we will get busy and comb the barrens forthe real criminals. I've got a hunch. And you can take my word thatjustice shall be done, no matter where the blow falls. "

Suddenly, through Chloe's mind flashed the memory of what Lapierre hadtold her of the Mounted. She arose to her feet and, drawing herself uphaughtily, glared into the face of the officer. When she spoke, hervoice rang hard with scorn. 

"It is very evident that you don't want to arrest MacNair. I haveheard that he is a law unto himself--that he would defy arrest--that hehas the Mounted subsidized. I did not believe it at the time. Iregarded it merely as the exaggerated statement of a man who justlyhates him. But it seems this man was right. You need not troubleyourself about MacNair's Indians. I will stand sponsor for theirwelfare. They are my Indians now. I warn you that the day of MacNairis past. I refuse to withdraw a single word of my charges against him, and you will either arrest him, or I shall go straight to Ottawa. AndI shall never rest until I have blazoned before the world the wholetruth about your rotten system! What will Canada say, when she learnsthat the Mounted--the men who have been held up before all the world asmodels of bravery, efficiency, and honour--are as crooked and graftingas--as the police of New York?"

Corporal Ripley's face showed red through the tan, and he started tohis feet with an exclamation of anger. "Hold on, Corporal. " The voiceof MacNair was the quiet voice with which one sooths a petulant child. He remained seated and pushed the Stetson toward the back of his head. "She really believes it. Don't hold it against her. It is not herfault. When the smoke has cleared away and she gets her bearings, we're all going to like her. In fact, I'm thinking that the time iscoming when the only one who will hate her will be herself. I like hernow; though she is not what you'd call my friend. I mean--not yet. "

Corporal Ripley gazed in astonishment at MacNair and then very frigidlyhe turned to Chloe. "Then the charge of murder stands?"

"Yes, it does, " answered the girl. "If he were allowed to go free nowthere would be three murders instead of two by the time of the springassizes or whatever you call them, for he is even now upon the trail ofa man he has threatened to kill. I can give you his exact words. Hesaid: 'I have taken the man-trail . . . And at the end of that trailwill lie a dead man--myself or Pierre Lapierre!'"

"Lapierre!" exclaimed the officer. "What has he got to do with it?"He turned to MacNair as if expecting an answer. But MacNair remainedsilent. "Why don't you charge Lapierre with the crimes you told me hewas guilty of?" taunted the girl. Again she saw that baffling twinklein the grey eyes of the man. Then the eyes hardened. 

"The last thing I desire is the arrest of Lapierre, " he answered. "Lapierre must answer to me. " The words, pronounced slowly anddistinctly, rasped hard. In spite of herself, Chloe shuddered. 

Corporal Ripley shifted uneasily. "We'd better be going, MacNair, " hesaid. "There's something queer about this whole business--something Idon't quite understand. It's up to me to take you up the river; but, believe me, I'm coming back! I'll get at the bottom of this thing ifit takes me five years. Are you ready?"

MacNair nodded. 

"I can let you have some Indians, " suggested the girl. 

"What for?"

"Why, for a guard, of course; to help you with your prisoner. "

Ripley drew himself up and answered abruptly: "The Mounted is quitecapable of managing its own affairs, Miss Elliston. I don't need yourIndians, thank you. "

Chloe glanced wrathfully into the boyish face of the officer. "Suityourself, " she answered sweetly. "But if I were you, I'd want a wholeregiment of Indians. Because if MacNair wants to, he'll eat you up. "

"He won't want to, " snapped Ripley. "I don't taste good. "

As they passed out of the door, MacNair turned. "Good-by, MissElliston, " he said gravely. "Beware of Pierre Lapierre. " Chloe madeno reply and as MacNair turned to go, he chanced to glance into thewide, expressionless face of Big Lena, who had stood throughout theinterview leaning heavily against the jamb of the kitchen door. Something inscrutable in the stare of the fishlike, china-blue eyesclung in his memory, and try as he would in the days that followed, MacNair could not fathom the meaning of that stare, if indeed it hadany meaning. MacNair did not know why, but in some inexplainablemanner the memory of that look eased many a weary mile. 

CHAPTER XVII

A FRAME-UP

News, of a kind, travels on the wings of the wind across wastes of thefarther land. Principalities may fall, nations crash, and kingdomssink into oblivion, and the North will neither know nor care. For theNorth has its own problems--vital problems, human problems--andtherefore big. Elemental, portentous problems, having to do with lifeand the eating of meat. 

In the crash and shift of man-made governments; in the redistributionof man-constituted authority, and man-gathered surplus of increment, the North has no part. On the cold side of sixty there is no surplus, and men think in terms of meat, and their possessions are meat-gettingpossessions. Guns, nets, and traps, even of the best, insure but abare existence. And in the lean years, which are the seventhyears--the years of the rabbit plague--starvation stalks in theteepees, and gaunt, sunken-eyed forms, dry-lipped, and with the skindrawn tightly over protruding ribs, stiffen between shoddy blankets. For even the philosophers of the land of God and the H. B. C. Must eat tolive--if not this week, at least once next week. 

The H. B. C. , taking wise cognizance of the seventh year, extends itcredit--"debt" it is called in the outlands--but it puts no more woolin its blankets, and for lack of food the body-fires burn low. But thecold remains inexorable. And with the thermometer at seventy degreesbelow zero, even in the years of plenty, when the philosophers eatalmost daily, there is little of comfort. With the thermometer atseventy in the lean years, the suffering is diminished by the passingof many philosophers. 

The arrest of Bob MacNair was a matter of sovereign import to thedwellers of the frozen places, and word of it swept like wildfirethrough the land of the lakes and rivers. Yet in all the North thoseupon whom it made the least impression were those most vitallyconcerned--MacNair's own Indians. So quietly had the incident passedthat not one of them realized its importance. 

With them MacNair was _God_. He was the _law_. He had taught them towork, so that even in the lean years they and their wives and theirbabies ate twice each day. He had said that they should continue toeat twice each day, and therefore his departure was a matter of nomoment. They knew only that he had gone southward with the man of thesoldier-police. This was doubtless as he had commanded. They couldconceive of MacNair only as commanding. Therefore thesoldier-policeman had obeyed and accompanied him to the southward. 

With no such complacency, however, was the arrest of MacNair regardedby the henchmen of Lapierre. To them MacNair was not God, nor was hethe law. For these men knew well the long arm of the Mounted and whatlay at the end of the trail. Lean forms sped through the woods, andthe word passed from lip to lip in far places. It was whispered uponthe Slave, the Mackenzie, and the Athabasca, and it was told in theprovinces before MacNair and Ripley reached Fort Chippewayan. Alongthe river, men talked excitedly, and impatiently awaited word fromLapierre, while their eyes snapped with greed and their thoughts flewto the gold in the sands of the barren grounds. 

In the Bastile du Mort, a hundred miles to the eastward, Lapierre heardthe news from the lips of a breathless runner, but a scant ten hoursafter Corporal Ripley and MacNair stepped from the door of the cottage. And within the hour the quarter-breed was upon the trail, travellinglight, in company with LeFroy, who, fearing swift vengeance, had alsosought safety in the stronghold of the outlaws. 

Chloe Elliston stood in the doorway and watched the broad form of BobMacNair swing across the clearing in company with Corporal Ripley. Asthe men disappeared in the timber, a fierce joy of victory surgedthrough her veins. She had bared the mailed fist! Had wrested apeople from the hand of their oppressor! The Snare Lake Indians werehenceforth to be _her_ Indians! She had ridded the North of MacNair!Every fibre of her sang with the exultation of it as she turned intothe room and encountered the fishlike stare of Big Lena. 

The woman leaned, ponderous and silent, against the jamb of the doorgiving into the kitchen. Her huge arms were folded tightly across herbreast, and, for some inexplicable reason, Chloe found the staredisconcerting. The enthusiasm of her victory damped perceptibly. Forif the fish-eyed stare held nothing of reproach, it certainly heldnothing of approbation. Almost the girl read a condescending pity inthe stare of the china-blue eyes. The thought stung, and she faced theother wrathfully. 

"Well, for Heaven's sake say something! Don't stand there and starelike a--a billikin! Can't you talk?"

"Yah, Ay tank Ay kin; but Ay von't--not yat. "

"What do you mean?" cried the exasperated girl, as she flung herselfinto a chair. But without deigning to answer, Big Lena turned heavilyinto the kitchen, and closed the door with a bang that impoverishedinvective--for volumes may be spoken--in the banging of a door. Themoment was inauspicious for the entrance of Harriet Penny. At best, Chloe merely endured the little spinster, with her whining, hystericaloutbursts, and abject, unreasoning fear of God, man, the devil, andeverything else. "Oh, my dear, I am so glad!" piped the little woman, rushing to the girl's side: "we need never fear him again, need we?"

"Nobody ever did fear him but you, " retorted Chloe. 

"But, Mr. Lapierre said----"

The girl arose with a gesture of impatience, and Miss Penny returned toMacNair. "He is so big, and coarse, and horrible! I am sure even hislooks are enough to frighten a person to death. "

Chloe sniffed. "I think he is handsome, and he is big and strong. Ilike big people. "

"But, my dear!" cried the horrified Miss Penny. "He--he kills Indians!"

"So do I!" snapped the girl, and stamped angrily into her own room, where she threw herself upon the bed and gave way to bitterreflections. She hated everyone. She hated MacNair, and Big Lena, andHarriet Penny, and the officer of the Mounted. She hated Lapierre andthe Indians, too. And then, realizing the folly of her blind hatred, she hated herself for hating. With an effort she regained her poise. 

"MacNair is out of the way; and that's the main thing, " she murmured. She remembered his last words: "Beware of Pierre Lapierre, " and hereyes sought the man's hastily scribbled note that lay upon the tablewhere he had left it. She reread the note, and crumpling it in herhand threw it to the floor. "He always manages to be some place elsewhen anything happens!" she exclaimed. "Oh, why couldn't it have beenthe other way around? Why couldn't MacNair have been the one to havethe interest of the Indians at heart? And why couldn't Lapierre havebeen the one to browbeat and bully them?"

She paced angrily up and down the room, and kicked viciously at thelittle ball of paper that was Lapierre's note. "He couldn't browbeatanything!" she exclaimed. "He's--he's--sometimes, I think, he's almost_sneaking_, with his bland, courtly manners, and his suave tongue. Oh, how I could hate that man! And how I--" she stopped suddenly, and withclenched fists fixed her gaze upon the portrait of Tiger Elliston, andas she looked the thin features that returned her stare seemed toresolve into the rugged outlines of the face of Bob MacNair. 

"He's big and strong, and he's not afraid, " she murmured, and startednervously at the knock with which Big Lena announced supper. 

When Chloe appeared at the table five minutes later she was quite herusual self. She even laughed at Harriet Penny's horrified narrative ofthe fact that she had discovered several Indians in the act of affixingrunners to the collapsible bathtubs in anticipation of the coming snow. 

Chloe spent an almost sleepless night, and it was with a feeling ofdistinct relief that she arose to find Lapierre upon the veranda. Shenoted a certain intense eagerness in the quarter-breed's voice as hegreeted her. 

"Ah, Miss Elliston!" he cried, seizing both her hands. "It seems thatduring my brief absence you have accomplished wonders! May I ask howyou managed to bring about the downfall of the brute of the North, andat the same time win his Indians to your school?"

Under the enthusiasm of his words the girl's heart once more quickenedwith the sense of victory. She withdrew her hands from his clasp andgave a brief account of all that had happened since their parting onSnare Lake. 

"Wonderful, " breathed Lapierre at the conclusion of the recital. "Andyou are sure he was duly charged with the murder of the two Indians?"

Chloe nodded. "Yes, indeed I am sure!" she exclaimed. "The officer, Corporal Ripley, tried to get me to put off this charge until his othertrial came up at the spring assizes. He said MacNair could give bailand secure his liberty on the liquor charges, and thus return to theNorth--and to his Indians. "

Lapierre nodded eagerly. "Ah, did I not tell you, Miss Elliston, thatthe men of the Mounted are with him heart and soul? He owns them! Youhave done well not to withdraw the charge of murder. "

"I offered to furnish him with an escort of Indians, but he refusedthem. I don't see how in the world he can expect to take MacNair tojail. He's a mere boy. "

Lapierre laughed. "He'll take him to jail all right, you may restassured as to that. He will not dare to allow him to escape, nor willMacNair try to escape. We have nothing to fear now until the trial. It is extremely doubtful if we can make the murder charge stick, but itwill serve to hold him during the winter, and I have no doubt when hiscase comes up in the spring we will be able to produce evidence thatwill insure conviction on the whiskey charges, which will mean at leasta year or two in jail and the exaction of a heavy fine. 

"In the meantime you will have succeeded in educating the Indians to arealization of the fact that they owe allegiance to no man. MacNair'spower is broken. He will be discredited by the authorities, and hatedby his own Indians--a veritable pariah of the wilderness. And now, Miss Elliston, I must hasten at once to the rivers. My interests therehave long been neglected. I shall return as soon as possible, but myabsence will necessarily be prolonged, for beside my own tradingaffairs and the getting out of the timber for new scows, I hope toprocure such additional evidence as will insure the conviction ofMacNair. LeFroy will remain with you here. "

"Did you catch the whiskey runners?" Chloe asked. 

Lapierre shook his head. "No, " he answered, "they succeeded in eludingus among the islands at the eastern end of the lake. We were about topush our search to a conclusion when news reached us of MacNair'sarrest, and we returned with all speed to the Yellow Knife. "

Somehow, the man's words sounded unconvincing--the glib reply was tooready--too like the studied answer to an anticipated question. Sheregarded him searchingly, but the simple directness of his gaze causedher own eyes to falter, and she turned into the house with a deepbreath that was very like a sigh. 

The sense of elation and self-confidence inspired by Lapierre's firstwords ebbed as it had ebbed before the unspoken rebuke of Big Lena, leaving her strangely depressed. With the joy of accomplishment deadwithin her, she drove herself to her work without enthusiasm. In allthe world, nothing seemed worth while. She was unsure--unsure ofLapierre; unsure of herself; unsure of Big Lena--and, worst of all, unbelievable and preposterous as it seemed in the light of what she hadwitnessed with her own eyes, unsure of MacNair--of his villainy!

Before noon the first snow of the season started in a fall of light, feathery flakes, which gradually resolved themselves into fine, hardparticles that were hurled and buffeted about by the blasts of a fitfulwind. 

For three days the blizzard raged--days in which Lapierre contrived tospend much time in Chloe's company, and during which the girl set aboutdeliberately to study the quarter-breed, in the hope of placingdefinitely the defect in his make-up, the tangible reason for thegrowing sense of distrust with which she was coming to regard him. But, try as she would, she could find no cause, no justification, forthe uncomfortable and indefinable _something_ that was graduallydeveloping into an actual doubt of his sincerity. She knew that theman had himself well in hand, for never by word or look did he expressany open avowal of love, although a dozen times a day he managed subtlyto show that his love had in no wise abated. 

On the morning of the fourth day, with forest and lake and river buriedbeneath three feet of snow, Lapierre took the trail for the southward. Before leaving, he sought out LeFroy in the storehouse. 

"We have things our own way, but we must lie low for a while, at least. MacNair is not licked yet--by a damn' sight! He knows we furnished thebooze to his Indians, and he will yell his head off to the Mounted, andwe will have them dropping in on us all the winter. In the meantimeleave the liquor where it is. Don't bring a gallon of it into thisclearing. It will keep, and we can't take chances with the Mounted. There will be enough in it for us, with what we can knock down here, and what the boys can take out of MacNair's diggings. They know thegold is there; most of them were in on the stampede when MacNair drovethem back a few years ago. And when they find out that MacNair is injail, there will be another stampede. And we will clean up big allaround. "

LeFroy, a man of few words, nodded sombrely, and Lapierre, who wasimpatient to be off to the rivers, failed to note that the nod was farmore sombre than usual--failed, also, to note the pair of china-blue, fishlike eyes that stared impassively at him from behind the goodspiled high upon the huge counter. 

Once upon the trail, Lapierre lost no time. As passed the word uponthe Mackenzie, where the men who had heard of the arrest of MacNairwaited in a frenzy of impatience for the signal that would send themflying over the snow to Snare Lake. Day and night the man travelled;from the Mackenzie southward the length of Slave and up the Athabasca. And in his wake men, whose eyes fairly bulged with the greed of gold, jammed their outfits into packs and headed into the North. 

At Athabasca Landing he sent a crew into the timber, and hastened on toEdmonton where he purchased a railway ticket for a point that hadnothing whatever to do with his destination. That same night heboarded an east-bound train, and in an early hour of the morning, whenthe engine paused for water beside a tank that was the most conspicuousbuilding of a little flat town in the heart of a peaceful farmingcommunity, he stepped unnoticed from the day coach and proceeded atonce to the low, wooden hotel, where he was cautiously admitted througha rear door by the landlord himself, who was, incidentally, Lapierre'sshrewdest and most effective whiskey runner. 

It was this Tostoff: Russian by birth, and crook by nature, whosebusiness it was to disguise the contraband whiskey intoinnocent-looking freight pieces. And, it was Tostoff who selected themen and stood responsible for the contraband's safe conduct over thefirst stage of its journey to the North. 

Tostoff objected strenuously to the running of a consignment in winter, but Lapierre persisted, covering the ground step by step while theother listened with a scowl. 

"It's this way, Tostoff: For years MacNair has been our chiefstumbling-block. God knows we have trouble enough running the stuffpast the Dominion police and the Mounted. But the danger from theauthorities is small in comparison with the danger from MacNair. "Tostoff growled an assent. "And now, " continued Lapierre, "for thefirst time we have him where we want him. "

The Russian looked sceptical. "We got MacNair where we want him ifhe's dead, " he grunted. "Who killed him?"

Lapierre made a gesture of impatience. "He is not dead. He's lockedup in the Fort Saskatchewan jail. "

For the first time Tostoff showed real interest. "What's against him?"he asked eagerly. 

"Murder, for one thing, " answered Lapierre. "That will hold himwithout bail until the spring assizes. He will probably get out ofthat, though. But they are holding him also on four or five liquorcharges. "

"Liquor charges!" cried Tostoff, with an angry snort. "O-ho! so that'shis game? That's why he's been bucking us--because he's got a line ofhis own!"

Lapierre laughed. "Not so fast, Tostoff, not so fast. It is aframe-up. That is, the charges are not, but the evidence is. Iattended to that myself. I think we have enough on him to keep him outof the cold for a couple of winters to come. But you can't tell. Andwhile we have him we will put the screws to him for all there is in it. It is the chance of a lifetime. What we want now is evidence--and moreevidence. 

"Here is the scheme: You fix up a consignment, five or ten gallons, theusual way, and instead of shooting it in by the Athabasca, cut into theold trail on the Beaver and take it across the Methye portage to a_cache_ on the Clearwater. Brown's old cabin will about fill the bill. We ought to be able to _cache_ the stuff by Christmas. 

"In the meantime, I will slip up the river and tip it off to theMounted at Fort McMurray that I got it straight from down below thatMacNair is going to run in a batch over the Methye trail, and that itis to be _cached_ on the bank of the Clearwater on New Year's Day. That will give your packers a week to make their getaway. And on NewYear's Day the Mounted will find the stuff in the _cache_. There willbe nobody to arrest, but they will have the evidence that will clinchthe case against MacNair. And with MacNair behind the bars we willhave things our own way north of sixty. "

Tostoff shook his head dubiously. 

"Bad business, Lapierre, " he warned. "Winter trailing is bad business. The snow tells tales. We haven't been caught yet. Why? Not becausewe've been lucky, but because we've been careful. Water leaves notrail. We've always run our stuff in in the summer. You say you'vegot the goods on MacNair. I say, let well enough alone. The Mountedain't fools--they can read the sign in the snow. "

Lapierre arose with a curse. "You white-livered clod!" he cried. "Whois running this scheme? You or I? Who delivers the whiskey to theIndians? And who pays you your money? I do the thinking for thisoutfit. I didn't come down here to _ask_ you to run this consignment. I came here to _tell_ you to do it. This thing of playing safe is allright. I never told you to run a batch in the winter before, but thistime you have got to take the chance. "

Lapierre leaned closer and fixed the heavy-faced Russian with hisgleaming black eyes. He spoke slowly so that the words fell distinctlyfrom his lips. "You _cache_ that liquor on the Clearwater on ChristmasDay. If you fail--well, you will join the others that have beendismissed from my service--see?"

Tostoff's only reply was a ponderous but expressive shrug, and withouta word Lapierre turned and stepped out into the night. 

CHAPTER XVIII

WHAT HAPPENED AT BROWN'S

It was the middle of December. Storm after storm had left the Northcold and silent beneath its white covering of snow. A dog-team swungacross the surface of the ice-locked Athabasca, and took the steepslope at Fort McMurray on a long slant. 

Leaving the dogs in care of the musher, Pierre Lapierre loosened thethongs of his rackets, and, pushing open the door, stamped noisily intothe detachment quarters of the Mounted and advanced to the stove wheretwo men were mending dog-harness. The men looked up. 

"Speaking of the devil, " grinned Constable Craig, with a glance towardCorporal Ripley, who greeted the newcomer with a curt nod. "Well, Lapierre, where'd you come from?"

Lapierre jerked his thumb toward the southward. "Up river, " heanswered. "Getting out timber for my scows. " Removing his cap andmittens, the quarter-breed loosened his heavy moose-hide _parka_, beatthe clinging snow from the coarse hair, and drew a chair to the stove. 

"Come through from the Landing on the river?" asked Ripley, as hefilled a short black pipe with the tobacco he shaved from a plug. "How's the trail?"

"Good and hard, except for the slush at the Boiler and another stretchjust below the Cascade. " Lapierre rolled a cigarette. "Hear youcaught MacNair with the goods at last, " he ventured. 

Ripley nodded. 

"Looks like it, " he admitted. "But what do you mean, 'at last'?"

The quarter-breed laughed lightly and blew a cloud of cigarette-smokeceilingward. "I mean he has had things pretty much his own way thelast six or eight years. "

"Meanin' he's been runnin' whiskey all that time?" asked Craig. 

Lapierre nodded. "He has run booze enough into the North to float acanoe from here to Port Chippewayan. "

It was Ripley's turn to laugh. "If you are so all-fired wise, whyhaven't you made a complaint?" he asked. "Seems like I never heard youand MacNair were such good friends, "

Lapierre shrugged. "I know a whole lot of men who have got their fullgrowth because they minded their own business, " he answered. "I am notin the Mounted. That's what you are paid for. "

Ripley flushed. "We'll earn our pay on this job all right. We've gotthe goods on him this time. And, by the way, Lapierre, if you've gotanything in the way of evidence, we'll be wanting it at the trial. Better show up in May, and save somebody goin' after you. If you runonto any Indians that know anything, bring them along. "

"I will be there, " smiled the other. "And since we are on the subject, I can put you wise to a little deal that will net you some first-handevidence. " The officers looked interested, and Lapierre continued:"You know where Brown's old cabin is, just this side of the Methyeportage?" Ripley nodded. "Well, if you should happen to be at Brown'son New Year's Day, just pull up the puncheons under the bunk and seewhat you find. "

"What will we find?" asked Craig. 

Lapierre shrugged. "If I were you fellows I wouldn't overlook anybets, " he answered meaningly. 

"Why New Year's Day any more than Christmas, or any other day?"

"Because, " answered Lapierre, "on Christmas Day, or any other daybefore New Year's Day, you won't find a damned thing but an emptyhole--that is why. Well, I must be going. " He fastened the throat ofhis _parka_ and drew on his cap and mittens. "So long! See you in thespring. Shouldn't wonder if I will run onto some Indians, this winter, who will tell what they know, now that MacNair is out of the way. Iknow plenty of them that can talk, if they will. "

"So long!" answered Ripley as Lapierre left the room. "Much obligedfor the tip. Hope your hunch is good. "

"Play it and see, " smiled Lapierre, and banged the door behind him. 

Moving slowly northward upon a course that paralleled but studiouslyavoided the old Methye trail, two men and a dog-team plodded heavilythrough the snow at the close of a shortening day. Ostensibly, thesemen were trappers; and, save for a single freight piece bound securelyupon the sled, their outfit varied in no particular from the outfits ofothers who each winter fare into the North to engage in the taking offur. A close observer might have noted that the eyes of these men werehard, and the frequent glances they cast over the back-trail were tensewith concern. 

The larger and stronger of the two, one Xavier, a sullen riverman ofevil countenance, paused at the top of a ridge and pointed across asnow-swept beaver meadow. "T'night we camp on dees side. T'mor' wecross to de mout' of de leetle creek, and two pipe beyon' we com' on decabin of Baptiste Chambre. "

The smaller man frowned. He, too, was a riverman, tough and wiry andsmall. A man whose pinched, wizened body was a fitting cloister forthe warped soul that flashed malignantly from the beady, snakelike eyes. 

"_Non, non_!" he cried, and the venomous glance of the beady eyes wasnot unmingled with fear. "We ke'p straight on pas' de beeg swamp. Me--I'm no lak' dees wintaire trail. " He pointed meaningly toward themarks of the sled in the snow. 

The other laughed derisively. "_Sacré_! you leetle man, you Du Mont, you 'fraid!"

The other shrugged. "I'm 'fraid, _Oui_, I'm lak' I ke'p out de jail. Tostoff, she say, you com' on de cabin of Brown de Chrees'mas Day. _Bien_! Tostoff, she sma't mans. Lapierre, too. Tostoff, she 'fraidfor de wintaire trail, but she 'fraid for Lapierre mor'. "

Xavier interrupted him. "_Tra la_, Chrees'mas Day! Ain't we got deeasy trail? Two days befor' Chrees'mas we com' on de cabin of Brown. Baptiste Chambre, she got de beeg jug rum. We mak' de grand dronk--oneday--one night. Den we hit de trail an com' on de ClearwaterChrees'mas Day sam' lak' now. Tostoff, de Russ, she nevair know, Lapierre, she nevair know. _Voilà_!"

Still the other objected. "Mebe so com' de storm. What den? We was'ede time wit' Baptiste Chambre. We no mak' de Clearwater de Chrees'masDay--eh?"

Xavier growled. "De Chrees'mas Day, damn! We no mak' de Chrees'masDay, we mak' som' odder day. Lapierre's damn' Injuns com' for dewheeskey on Chrees'mas Day, she haf to wait. Me--I'm goin' to BaptisteChambre. I'm goin' for mak' de beeg dronk. If de snow com' and de dogcan't pull, I'm tak' dees leetle piece on ma back to the Clearwater. "

He reached down contemptuously and swung the piece containing tengallons of whiskey to his shoulder with one hand, then lowered it againto the sled. 

"You know w'at I'm hear on de revair?" he asked, stepping closer to DuMont's side and lowering his voice. "I'm hearin' MacNair ees een dejail. I'm hearin' Lapierre she pass de word to hit for Snare Lake, fordeeg de gol'. "

"Did Lapierre tell you to deeg de gol', or me? _Non_. He say, you goto Tostoff. " The snakelike eyes of the smaller man glittered at themention of gold. He clutched at the other's arm and cried out sharply:

"MacNair arres'! _Sacré_! Com', we tak' de wheeskey to de Clearwateran' go on to Snare Lake. "

This time it was Xavier's eyes that flashed a hint of fear. "_Non_!"he answered quickly. "Lapierre, she----"

The other silenced him, speaking rapidly. "Lapierre, she t'ink shemak' us w'at you call, de double cross!" Xavier noted that themalignant eyes flashed dangerously--"Lapierre, she sma't but me--I'msma't too. Dere's plent' men 'long de revair lak' to see de las' ofPierre Lapierre. And plent' Injun in de Nort' dey lak' dat too. Butdey 'fraid to keel him. We do de work--Lapierre she tak' de money. _Sacré_! Me--I'm 'fraid, too. " He paused and shrugged significantly. "But som' day I'm git de chance an' den leetle Du Mont she dismeesLapierre from de serveece. Den me--I'm de bos'. _Bien_!"

The other glanced at him in admiration. 

"Me, I'm goin' 'long to Snare Lake, " he said, "but firs' we stop onBaptiste Chambre an' mak' de beeg dronk, eh!" The smaller man nodded, and the two sought their blankets and were soon sleeping silentlybeside the blazing fire. 

A week later the two rivermen paused at the edge of a thicket thatcommanded the approach to Brown's abandoned cabin on the Clearwater. The threatened storm had broken while they were still at BaptisteChambre's cabin, and the two days' debauch had lengthened into five. 

Chambre's jug had been emptied and several times refilled from thecontents of Tostoff's concealed cask, which had been skilfully tappedand as skilfully replenished as to weight by the addition of snow water. 

The effect of their protracted orgy was plainly visible in thebloodshot eyes and heavy movements of both men. And it was more fromforce of long habit than from any sense of alertness or premonition ofdanger that they crouched in the thicket and watched the smoke curlfrom the little iron stovepipe that protruded above the roof of thecabin. 

"Dem Injun she wait, " growled Xavier. "Com' on, me--I'm lak' for ketchsom' sleep. " The two swung boldly into the open and, pausing only longenough to remove their rackets, pushed open the door of the cabin. 

An instant later Du Mont, who was in the lead, leaped swiftly backwardand, crashing into the heavier and clumsier Xavier bowled him over intothe snow, where both wallowed helplessly, held down by Xavier's heavypack. 

It was but the work of a moment for the wiry Du Mont to free himself, and when he leaped to his feet, cursing like a fiend, it was to looksquarely into the muzzle of Corporal Ripley's service revolver, whileConstable Craig loosened the pack straps and allowed Xavier to arise. 

"Caught with the goods, eh?" grinned Ripley, when the two prisonerswere seated side by side upon the pole bunk. 

The sullen-faced Xavier glowered in surly silence, but the malignant, beady eyes of Du Mont regarded the officer keenly. "You patrol deClearwater now, eh?"

Ripley laughed. "When there's anything doin' we do. "

"How you fin' dat out? Dem Injun she squeal? I'm lak' to know 'boutdat. "

"Well, it wasn't exactly an Indian this time, " answered Ripley; "thatis, it wasn't a regular Indian. Pierre Lapierre put us on to thislittle deal. "

"_Pierre_--LAPIERRE!"

The little wizened man fairly shrieked the name and, leaping to hisfeet, bounded about the room like an animated rubber ball, while fromhis lips poured a steady stream of vile epithets, mingled with everycurse and gem of profanity known to two languages. 

"That's goin' some, " enthused Constable Craig, when the other finallypaused for breath. "An' come to think about it, I believe you'reright. I like to hear a man speak his mind, an' from your remarks itseems like you're oncommon peeved with this here little deal. It ain'tnothin' to get so worked up over. You'll serve your time an' in acouple of years or so they'll turn you loose again. "

At the mention of the prison term the burly Xavier moved uneasily uponthe bunk. He seemed about to speak, but was forestalled by the quickerwitted Du Mont. 

"Two years, eh!" asked the outraged Metis, addressing Ripley. "Mebe soyou mak' w'at you call de deal. Mebe so I'm tell you who's de boss. Mebe so I'm name de man dat run de wheeskey into de Nort'. De man datplans de cattle raids on de bordair. De man dat keels mor' Injun danmos' men keels deer, eh! Wat den? Mebe so den you turn us loose, eh?"

Ripley laughed. "You think I'm goin' to pay you to tell me the name ofthe man we've already got locked up?"

"You got MacNair lock up, " Du Mont leered knowingly. "_Bien_! Yout'ink MacNair run de wheeskey. But MacNair, she ain't run no wheeskey. You mak' de deal wit' me. Ba Gos'! I'm not jus' tell you de name, I'mtell you so you fin' w'at you call de proof! I no fin' de proof--youno turn me loose. _Voilà_!"

Corporal Ripley was a keen judge of men, and he knew that thevindictive and outraged Metis was in just the right mood to tell all heknew. Also Ripley believed that the man knew much. Therefore, he madethe deal. And it is a tribute to the Mounted that the crafty andsuspicious Metis accepted, without question, the word of the corporalwhen he promised to do all in his power to secure their liberty inreturn for the evidence that would convict "the man higher up. "

Corporal Ripley was a man of quick decision; with him to decide was toact. Within an hour from the time Du Mont concluded his story the twoofficers with their prisoners were headed for Fort Saskatchewan. BothDu Mont and Xavier realized that their only hope for clemency lay intheir ability to aid the authorities in building up a clear caseagainst Lapierre, and during the ten days of snow-trail that ended atAthabasca Landing each tried to outdo the other in explaining what heknew of the workings of Lapierre's intricate system. 

At the Landing, Ripley reported to the superintendent commanding NDivision, who immediately sent for the prisoners and submitted them toa cross-examination that lasted far into the night, and the followingmorning the corporal escorted them to Fort Saskatchewan, where theywere to remain in jail to await the verification of their story. 

Division commanders are a law unto themselves, and much to hissurprise, two days later, Bob MacNair was released upon his ownrecognizance. Whereupon, without a moment's delay, he bought the bestdog-team obtainable and headed into the North accompanied by CorporalRipley, who was armed with a warrant for the arrest of Pierre Lapierre. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE LOUCHOUX GIRL

Winter laid a heavy hand upon the country of the Great Slave. Blizzardafter howling blizzard came out of the North until the buildings ofChloe Elliston's school lay drifted to the eaves in the centre of thesnow-swept clearing. 

With the drifting snows and the bitter, intense cold that isolated thelittle colony from the great world to the southward, came a sense ofpeace and quietude that contrasted sharply with the turbulent, surcharged atmosphere with which the girl had been surrounded from themoment she had unwittingly become a factor in the machinations of thewarring masters of wolf-land. 

With MacNair safely behind the bars of a jail far to the southward, andLapierre somewhere upon the distant rivers, the Indians for the firsttime relaxed from the strain of tense expectancy. Of her own originalIndians, those who had remained at the school by command of the craftyLapierre, there remained only LeFroy and a few of the older men whowere unfit to go on the trap-lines, together with the women andchildren. 

MacNair's Indians, who had long since laid down their traps to pick upthe white man's tools, stayed at the school. And much to the girl'ssurprise, under the direction of the refractory Sotenah, and Old Elk, and Wee Johnnie Tamarack, not only performed with a will the necessarywork of the camp--the chopping and storing of firewood, the shovellingof paths through the huge drifts, and the drawing of water from theriver--but took upon themselves numerous other labours of their owninitiative. 

An ice-house was built and filled upon the bank of the river. Treeswere felled, and the logs ranked upon miniature rollways, where allthrough the short days the Indians busied themselves in the rudewhip-sawing of lumber. 

Their women and children daily attended the school and workedfaithfully under the untiring tutelage of Chloe and Harriet Penny, whoentered into the work with new enthusiasm engendered by the interestand the aptness of the Snare Lake Indians--absent qualities among thewives and children of Lapierre's trappers. 

LeFroy was kept busy in the storehouse, and with the passing of thedays Chloe noticed that he managed to spend more and more time incompany with Big Lena. At first she gave the matter no thought. Butwhen night after night she heard the voices of the two as they satabout the kitchen-stove long after she had retired, she began toconsider the matter seriously. 

At first she dismissed it with a laugh. Of all people in the world, she thought, these two, the heavy, unimaginative Swedish woman, and theleathern-skinned, taciturn wood-rover, would be the last to listen tothe call of romance. 

Chloe was really fond of the huge, silent woman who had followed herwithout question into the unknown wilderness of the Northland, even asshe had accompanied her without protest through the maze of the farSouth Seas. With all her averseness to speech and her vacuous, fishystare, the girl had long since learned that Big Lena was both loyal andefficient and shrewd. But, Big Lena as a wife! Chloe smiled broadlyat the thought. 

"Poor LeFroy, " she pitied. "But it would be the best thing in theworld for him. 'The perpetuity of the red race will be attained onlythrough its amalgamation with the white, '" she quoted; the tritebanality of one of the numerous theorists she had studied beforestarting into the North. 

Of LeFroy she knew little. He seemed a half-breed of more than averageintelligence, and as for the rest--she would leave that to Lena. Onthe whole, she rather approved of the arrangement, not alone upon theamalgamation theory, but because she entertained not the slightestdoubt as to who would rule the prospective family. She could dependupon Big Lena's loyalty, and her marriage to one of their number wouldtherefore become a very important factor in the attitude of the Indianstowards the school. 

Gradually, the women of the Slave Lake Indians taking the cue fromtheir northern sisters, began to show an appreciation of the girl'sefforts in their behalf. An appreciation that manifested itself inlittle tokens of friendship, exquisitely beaded moccasins, shylypresented, and a pair of quill-embroidered leggings laid upon her deskby a squaw who slipped hurriedly away. Thus the way was paved for acloser intimacy which quickly grew into an eager willingness among theIndians to help her in the mastering of their own language. 

As this intimacy grew, the barrier which is the chief stumbling-blockof missionaries and teachers who seek to carry enlightenment into thelean lone land, gradually dissolved. The women with whom Chloe came incontact ceased to be Indians _en masse_; they became_people_--personalities--each with her own capability and propensityfor the working of good or harm. With this realization vanished thelast vestige of aloofness and reserve. And, thereafter, many of thewomen broke bread by invitation at Chloe's own table. 

The one thing that remained incomprehensible to the girl was theidolatrous regard in which MacNair was held by his own Indians. Tothem he was a superman--the one great man among all white men. Hisword was accepted without question. Upon leaving for the southwardMacNair had told the men to work, therefore they worked unceasingly. Also he had told the women and the children to obey without questionthe words of the white _kloochman_, and therefore they absorbed herteaching with painstaking care. 

Time and again the girl tried to obtain the admission that MacNair wasin the habit of supplying his Indians with whiskey, and always shereceived the same answer. "MacNair sells no whiskey. He hateswhiskey. And many times has he killed men for selling whiskey to hispeople. "

At first these replies exasperated the girl beyond measure. She setthem down as stereotyped answers in which they had been carefullycoached. But as time went on and the women, whose word she had come tohold in regard, remained unshaken in their statements, an uncomfortabledoubt assailed her--a doubt that, despite herself, she fostered. Adoubt that caused her to ponder long of nights as she lay in her littleroom listening to the droning voices of LeFroy and Big Lena as theytalked by the stove in the kitchen. 

Strange fancies and pictures the girl built up as she lay, half waking, half dreaming between her blankets. Pictures in which MacNair, misjudged, hated, fighting against fearful odds, came clean through theruck and muck with which his enemies had endeavoured to smother him, and proved himself the man he might have been; fancies and picturesthat dulled into a pain that was very like a heartache, as the vividpicture--the real picture--which she herself had seen with her own eyesthat night on Snare Lake, arose always to her mind. 

The tang of the northern air bit into the girl's blood. She spent muchtime in the open and became proficient and tireless in the use ofsnowshoes and skis. Daily her excursions into the surrounding timbergrew longer, and she was never so happy as when swinging with strong, wide strides on her fat thong-strung rackets, or sliding with the speedof the wind down some steep slope of the river-bank, on her smoothlypolished skis. 

It was upon one of these solitary excursions, when her steps hadcarried her many miles along the winding course of a small tributary ofthe Yellow Knife, that the girl became so fascinated in her explorationshe failed utterly to note the passage of time until a sharp bend ofthe little river brought her face to face with the low-hung winter sun, which was just on the point of disappearing behind the shrub pines of along, low ridge. 

With a start she brought up short and glanced fearfully about her. Darkness was very near, and she had travelled straight into thewilderness almost since early dawn. Without a moment's delay sheturned and retraced her steps. But even as her hurrying feet carriedher over the back-trail she realized that night would overtake herbefore she could hope to reach the larger river. 

The thought of a night spent alone in the timber at first terrifiedher. She sought to increase her pace, but her muscles were tired, herfootsteps dragged, and the rackets clung to her feet like inexorableweights which sought to drag her down, down into the soft whiteness ofthe snow. 

Darkness gathered, and the back-trail dimmed. Twice she fell andregained her feet with an effort. Suddenly rounding a sharp bend, shecrashed heavily among the dead branches of a fallen tree. When atlength she regained her feet, the last vestige of daylight hadvanished. Her own snowshoe tracks were indiscernible upon the whitesnow. She was off the trail!

Something warm and wet trickled along her cheek. She jerked off hermittens and with fingers tingling in the cold, keen air, picked bits ofbark from the edges of the ragged wound where the end of a brokenbranch had snagged the soft flesh of her face. The wound stung, andshe held a handful of snow against it until the pain dulled under thenumbing chill. 

Stories of the night-prowling wolf-pack, and the sinister, man-eating_loup cervier_, crowded her brain. She must build a fire. She feltthrough her pocket for the glass bottle of matches, only to find thather fingers were too numb to remove the cork. She replaced the vialand, drawing on her mittens, beat her hands together until the bloodtingled to her finger-tips. How she wished now that she had heeded theadvice of LeFroy, who had cautioned against venturing into the woodswithout a light camp ax slung to her belt. 

Laboriously she set about gathering bark and light twigs which shepiled in the shelter of a cut-bank, and when at last a feeble flameflickered weakly among the thin twigs she added larger branches whichshe broke and twisted from the limbs of the dead trees. Her camp-fireassumed a healthy proportion, and the flare of it upon the snow wasencouraging. 

At the end of an hour, Chloe removed her rackets and dropped wearilyonto the snow beside the fire-wood which she had piled convenientlyclose to the blaze. Never in her life had she been so utterly weary, but she realized that for her that night there could be no sleep. Andno sooner had the realization forced itself upon her than she fellsound asleep with her head upon the pile of fire-wood. 

She awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright, staring in bewildermentat her fire--and beyond the fire where, only a few feet distant, ahooded shape stood dimly outlined against the snow. Chloe's garments, dampened by the exertion of the earlier hours, had chilled her throughwhile she slept, and as she stared wide-eyed at the apparition beyondthe fire, the figure drew closer and the chill of the dampened garmentsseemed to clutch with icy fingers at her heart. She nerved herself fora supreme effort and arose stiffly to her knees, and then suddenly thefigure resolved itself into the form of a girl--an Indian girl--but agirl as different from the Indians of her school as day is differentfrom night. 

As the girl advanced she smiled, and Chloe noted that her teeth werestrong and even and white, and that dark eyes glowed softly from a faceas light almost as her own. 

"Do not 'fraid, " said the girl in a low, rich voice. "I'm not hurtyou. I'm see you fire, I'm com' 'cross to fin'. Den, ver' queek youcom' 'wake, an' I'm see you de one I'm want. "

"The one you want!" cried Chloe, edging closer to the fire. "What doyou mean? Who are you? And why should you want me?"

"Me--I'm Mary. I'm com' ver' far. I'm com' from de people of mymodder. De Louchoux on de lower Mackenzie. I'm com' to fin' deschool. I'm hear about dat school. "

"The lower Mackenzie!" cried Chloe in astonishment. "I should thinkyou have come very far. "

The girl nodded. "Ver' far, " she repeated. "T'irty-two sleep I'm onde trail. "

"Alone!"

"Alone, " she assented. "I'm com' for learn de ways of de white women. "

Chloe motioned the girl closer, and then, seized by a sudden chill, shivered violently. The girl noticed the paroxysm, and, dropping toher knees by Chloe's side, spoke hurriedly. 

"You col', " she said. "You got no blanket. You los'. "

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried to a light pack-sled whichstood nearby upon the snow. A moment later she returned with a heavypair of blankets which she spread at Chloe's side, and then, throwingmore wood upon the fire, began rapidly to remove the girl's clothing. Within a very short space of time, Chloe found herself lying warm andcomfortable between the blankets, while her damp garments were dryingupon sticks thrust close to the blaze. She watched the Indian girl asshe moved swiftly and capably about her task, and when the last garmentwas hung upon its stick she motioned the girl to her side. 

"Why did you come so far to my school?" she asked. "Surely you havebeen to school. You speak English. You are not a full-blood Indian. "

The girl's eyes sought the shadows beyond the firelight, and, as herlips framed a reply, Chloe marvelled at the weird beauty of her. 

"I go to school on de Mission, two years at Fort MacPherson. I learnto spik de Englis'. My fadder, heem Englis', but I'm never see heem. Many years ago he com' in de beeg boat dat com' for ketch de whale an'got lock in de ice in de Bufort Sea. In de spring de boat go 'way, an'my fadder go 'long, too. He tell my modder he com' back nex' winter. Dat many years ago--nineteen years. Many boats com' every year, but myfadder no com' back. My modder she t'ink he com' back som' day, an'every fall my modder she tak' me 'way from Fort MacPherson and we go upon de coast an' build de _igloo_. An' every day she set an' watchwhile de ships com' in, but my fadder no com' back. My modder t'ink hesure com' back, he fin' her waitin' when he com'. She say, mebe so heketch 'm many whale. Mebe so he get reech so we got plen' money to buyde grub. "

The girl paused and her brows contracted thoughtfully. She threw afresh stick upon the fire and shook her head slowly. "I don' know, "she said softly, "mebe so he com' back--but heem been gone long tam'. "

"Where is your mother now?" asked Chloe, when the girl had finished. 

"She up on de coast in de little _igloo_. Many ships com' into BufortSea las' fall. She say, sure dis winter my fadder com' back. She gotto wait for heem. "

Chloe cleared her throat sharply. "And you?" she asked, "why did youcome clear to the Yellow Knife? Why did you not go back to school atthe Mission?"

A troubled expression crept into the eyes of the Louchoux girl, and sheseemed at a loss to explain. "Eet ees, " she answered at length, "datmy man, too, he not com' back lak' my fadder. "

"Your man!" cried Chloe in astonishment. "Do you mean you are married?Why, you are nothing but a child!"

The girl regarded her gravely. "Yes, " she answered, "I'm marry. Twoyears ago I git marry, up on de Anderson Reever. My man, heemfree-trader, an' all summer we got plent' to eat. In de fall he tak'me back to de _igloo_. He say, he mus' got to go to de land of dewhite man to buy supplies. I lak' to go, too, to de land of de whiteman, but he say no, you Injun, you stay in de Nort', an' by-m-by I com'back again. Den he go up de reever, an' all winter I stay in de igloowit' my modder an' look out over de ice-pack at de boats in de BufortSea. In de spreeng my man he don' com' back, my fadder he don' com'back neider. We not have got mooch grub to eat dat winter, and den wego to Fort MacPherson. I go back to de school, and I'm tell de pries'my man he no com' back. De pries' he ver' angry. He say, I'm not gotmarry, but de pries' he ees a man--he don' un'stan'. 

"All summer I'm stay on de Mackenzie, an' I'm watch de canoes an' I'mwait for my man to com' back, but he don' com' back. An' in de fall mymodder she go Nort' again to watch de ships in de Bufort Sea. She say, com' 'long, but I don' go, so she go 'lone and I'm stay on deMackenzie. I'm stay 'til de reever freeze, an' no more canoe can com'. Den I'm wait for de snow. Mebe so my man com' wit' de dog-team. DenI'm hear 'bout de school de white woman build on de Yellow Knife. Always I'm hear 'bout de white women, but I'm never seen none--only dewhite men. My man, he mos' white. 

"Den I'm say, mebe so my man lak' de white women more dan de Injun. Henot com' back dis winter, an' I'm go on de school and learn de ways ofde white women, an' in de spreeng when my man com' back he lak' megood, an' nex' winter mebe he tak' me 'long to de land of de whitewomen. But, eet's a long trail to de Yellow Knife, an' I'm got nomoney to buy de grub an' de outfit. I'm go once mor' to de pries' an'I'm tell heem 'bout dat school. An' I'm say, mebe so I'm learn de waysof de white women, my man tak' me 'long nex' tam'. 

"De pries' he t'ink 'bout dat a long tam'. Den he go over to de HudsonBay Pos' an' talk to McTavish, de factor, an' by-m-by he com' back andtak' me over to de pos' store an' give me de outfit so I'm com' to deschool on de Yellow Knife. Plent' grub an' warm blankets dey give me. An' t'irty-two sleep I'm travel de snow-trail. Las' night I'm mak' mycamp in de scrub cross de reever. I'm go 'sleep, an' by-m-by I'm wakeup an' see you fire an' I'm com' 'long to fin' out who camp here. "

As she listened, Chloe's hand stole from beneath the blankets andclosed softly about the fingers of the Louchoux girl. "And so you havecome to live with me?" she whispered softly. 

The girl's face lighted up. "You let me com'?" she asked eagerly, "an'you teach me de ways of de white women, so I ain't jus' be Injun girl?So when my man com' back, he lak' me an' I got plent' to eat in dewinter?"

"Yes, dear, " answered Chloe, "you shall come to live with me always. "

Followed then a long silence which was broken at last by the Indiangirl. 

"You don' say lak' de pries', " she asked, "you not marry, you bad?"

"No! No! No! You poor child!" cried Chloe, "of course you are notbad! You are going to live with me. You will learn many things. "

"An' som' tam', we fin' my man?" she asked eagerly. 

Chloe's voice sounded suddenly harsh. "Yes, indeed, we will find him!"she cried. "We will find him and bring him back--" she stoppedsuddenly. "We will speak of that later. And now that my clothes aredry you can help me put them on, and if you have any grub left in yourpack let's eat. I'm starving. "

While Chloe finished dressing, the Louchoux girl boiled a pot of teaand fried some bacon, and an hour later the two girls were fast asleepin each other's arms, beneath the warm folds of the big Hudson Bayblankets. 

The following morning they had proceeded but a short distance upon theback-trail when they were met by a searching party from the school. The return was made without incident, and Chloe, who had taken a greatfancy to the Louchoux girl, immediately established her as a member ofher own household. 

During the days which followed, the girl plunged with an intenseeagerness into the task of learning the ways of the white women. Nothing was too trivial or unimportant to escape her attention. Shelearned to copy with almost pathetic exactness each of Chloe's littleacts and mannerisms, even to the arranging of her hair. With the othertwo inmates of the cottage the girl became hardly less a favourite thanwith Chloe herself. 

Her progress in learning to speak English, her skill with the needleand the rapidity with which she learned to make her own clothingdelighted Harriet Penny. While Big Lena never tired of instructing herin the mysteries of the culinary department. In return the girl lookedupon the three women with an adoration that bordered upon idolatry. She would sit by the hour listening to Chloe's accounts of the wondrouscities of the white men and of the doings of the white men's women. 

Chloe never mentioned the girl's secret to either Harriet Penny or BigLena, and carefully avoided any allusion to the subject to the girlherself. Nothing could be done, she reasoned, until the ice went outof the rivers, and in the meantime she would do all in her power toinstil into the girl's mind an understanding of the white women'sethics, so that when the time came she would be able to chooseintelligently for herself whether she would return to her free-traderlover or prosecute him for his treachery. 

Chloe knew that the girl had done no wrong, and in her heart she hopedthat she could be brought to a realization of the true character of theman and repudiate him. If not--if she really loved him, and wasdetermined to remain his wife--Chloe made up her mind to insist upon aceremony which should meet the sanction of Church and State. 

Christmas and New Year's passed, and Lapierre did not return to theschool. Chloe was not surprised at this, for he had told her that hisabsence would be prolonged; and in her heart of hearts she was reallyglad, for the veiled suspicion of the man's sincerity had grown into anactual distrust of him--a distrust that would have been increased athousand-fold could she have known that the quarter-breed was even thenupon Snare Lake at the head of a gang of outlaws who were thawing outMacNair's gravel and shovelling it into dumps for an early clean-up;instead of looking after his "neglected interests" upon the rivers. 

But she did not know that, nor did she know of his midnight visit toTostoff, nor of what happened at Brown's cabin, nor of the release ofMacNair. 

CHAPTER XX

ON THE TRAIL OF PIERRE LAPIERRE

Bob MacNair drove a terrific trail. He was known throughout theNorthland as a hard man to follow at any time. His huge muscles weretireless at the paddle, and upon the rackets his long swinging strideate up the miles of the snow-trails. And when Bob MacNair was an ahurry the man who undertook to keep up with him had his work cut out. 

When he headed northward after his release from the Fort SaskatchewanJail, MacNair was in very much of a hurry. From daylight until farinto the dark he urged his malamutes to their utmost. And CorporalRipley, who was by no means a _chechako_, found himself taxed to thelimit of his endurance, although never by word or sign did he indicatethat the pace was other than of his own choosing. 

Fort McMurray, a ten- to fourteen-day trip under good conditions, wasreached in seven days. Fort Chippewayan in three days more, and FortResolution a week later--seventeen days from Athabasca Landing to FortResolution--a record trip for a dog-train!

MacNair was known as a man of few words, but Ripley wondered at theominous silence with which his every attempt at conversation was met. During the whole seventeen days of the snow-trail, MacNair scarcelyaddressed a word to him--seemed almost oblivious to his presence. 

Upon the last day, with the log buildings of Fort Resolution in sight, MacNair suddenly halted the dogs and faced Corporal Ripley. 

"Well, what's your program?" he asked shortly. 

"My program, " returned the other, "is to arrest Pierre Lapierre, "

"How are you going to do it?"

"I've got to locate him first, the details will work out later. I'vebeen counting a lot on your help and judgment in the matter. "

"Don't do it!" snapped MacNair. 

The other gazed at him in astonishment. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm not going to help you arrest Lapierre. He's mine! Ihave sworn to get him, and, by God, I _will_ get him! From now on weare working against each other. "

Ripley flushed, and his eyes narrowed. "You mean, " he exclaimed, "thatyou defy the Mounted! That you refuse to help when you're called on?"

MacNair laughed. "You might put it that way, I suppose, but it don'tsound well. You know me, Ripley. You know when my word haspassed--when I've once started a thing--I'll see it through to thelimit. I've sworn to get Lapierre. And I tell you, he's mine! Unlessyou get him first. You're a good man, Ripley, and you may do it--butif you do, when you get back with him, you'll know you've beensomewhere. "

The lines of Ripley's face softened; as a sporting proposition thesituation appealed to him. He thrust out his hand. "It's a go, MacNair, " he said, "and let the best man win!"

MacNair wrung the officer's hand in a mighty grip, and then just as hewas on the point of starting his dogs, paused and gazed thoughtfullyafter the other who was making his way toward the little buildings ofFort Resolution. 

"Oh, Ripley, " he called. The officer turned and retraced his steps. "You've heard of Lapierre's fort to the eastward. Have you ever beenthere?"

Ripley shook his head. "No, but I've heard he has one somewhere aroundthe east end of the lake. "

MacNair laughed. "Yes, and if you hunted the east end of the lake forit you could hunt a year without finding it. If you really want toknow where it is, come along, I'll show you. I happen to be goingthere. "

"What's the idea?" asked the officer, regarding MacNair quizzically. 

"The idea is just this. Lapierre's no fool. He's got as good a chanceof getting me as I have of getting him. And if anything happens to meyou fellows will lose a lot of valuable time before you can locate thatfort. I don't know myself exactly why I'm taking you there, exceptthat--well, if anything should happen to me, Lapierre would--you see, he might--that is---- Damn it!" he broke out wrathfully. "Can't yousee he'll have things his own way with _her_?"

Ripley grinned broadly. "Oh! So that's it, eh? Well, a fellow oughtto look out for his friends. She seemed right anxious to have _you_put where nothing would hurt you. "

"Shut up!" growled MacNair shortly. "And before we start there's onelittle condition you must agree to. If we find Lapierre at the fort, in return for my showing you the place, you've got to promise to makeno attempt to arrest him without first returning to Fort Resolution. If I can't get him in the meantime I ought to lose. "

"You're on, " grinned Ripley, "I promise. But man, if he's there hewon't be alone! What chance will you have single-handed against awhole gang of outlaws?"

MacNair smiled grimly. "That's my lookout. Remember, your word haspassed, and when we locate Lapierre, you head back for Fort Resolution. "

The other nodded regretfully, and when MacNair turned away from thefort and headed eastward along the south shore of the lake, the officerfell silently in behind the dogs. 

They camped late in a thicket on the shore of South Bay, and atdaylight headed straight across the vast snow-level, that stretched forsixty miles in an unbroken surface of white. That night they camped onthe ice, and toward noon of the following day drew into the scrubtimber directly north of the extremity of Peththenneh Island. 

Long after dark they made a fireless camp directly opposite thestronghold of the outlaws on the shore of Lac du Mort. Circling thelake next morning, they reconnoitred the black spruce swamp, andworking their way, inch by inch, passed cautiously between the denseevergreens in the direction of the high promontory upon which Lapierrehad built his "Bastile du Mort. "

Silence enveloped the swamp. An intense, all-pervading stillness, accentuated by the low-hung snow-weighted branches through which themen moved like dark phantoms in the grey half-light of the dawn. Theymoved not with the stealthy, gliding movement of the Indian, but withthe slow caution of trained woodsmen, pausing every few moments toscrutinize their surroundings, and to strain their ears for a soundthat would tell them that other lurking forms glided among the silentaisles and vistas of the snow-shrouded swamp. But no sounds came tothem through the motionless air, and after an hour of stealthy advance, they drew into the shelter of a huge spruce and peered through theinterstices of its snow-laden branches toward the log stockade thatLapierre had thrown across the neck of his lofty peninsula. 

Silent and grey and deserted loomed the barrier so cunningly devised asto be almost indistinguishable at a distance of fifty yards. Snow layupon its top, and vertical ridges of snow clung to the crevices of theupstanding palings. 

A half-hour passed, while the two men remained motionless, and then, satisfied that the fort was unoccupied, they stepped cautiously fromthe shelter of their tree. The next instant, loud and clear, shattering the intense silence with one sharp explosion of sound, ranga shot. And Corporal Ripley, who was following close at the heels ofMacNair, staggered, clawed wildly for the butt of his service revolverwhich protruded from its holster, and, with an imprecation on his lipsthat ended in an unintelligible snarl, crashed headlong into the snow. 

MacNair whirled as if upon a pivot, and with hardly a glance at theprostrate form, dashed over the back-trail with the curious lumberingstrides of the man who would hurry on rackets. He had jerked off hisheavy mitten at the sound of the shot, and his bared hand clutchedfirmly the butt of a blue-black automatic. A spruce-branch, suddenlyrelieved of its snow, sprang upward with a swish, thirty yards away. MacNair fired three times in rapid succession. 

There was no answering shot, and he leaped forward, charging directlytoward the tree that concealed the hidden foe before the man couldreload; for by the roar of its discharge, MacNair knew that the weaponwas an old Hudson Bay muzzle-loading smoothbore--a primitive weapon ofthe old North, but in the hands of an Indian, a weapon of terribleexecution at short range, where a roughly moulded bullet or a slugrudely hammered from the solder melted from old tin cans tears its waythrough the flesh, driven by three fingers of black powder. 

Near the tree MacNair found the gun where its owner had hurled it intothe snow--found also the tracks of a pair of snowshoes, which headedinto the heart of the black spruce swamp. The tracks showed at aglance that the lurking assassin was an Indian, that he was travellinglight, and that the chance of running him down was extremely remote. Whereupon MacNair returned his automatic to its holster and bethoughthimself of Ripley, who was lying back by the stockade with his faceburied in the snow. 

Swiftly he retraced his steps, and, kneeling beside the wounded man, raised him from the snow. Blood oozed from the corners of theofficer's lips, and, mingling with the snow, formed a red slush whichclung to the boyish cheek. With his knife MacNair cut through theclothing and disclosed an ugly hole below the right shoulder-blade. Hebound up the wound, plugging the hole with suet chewed from a lumpwhich he carried in his pocket. Leaving Ripley upon his face toprevent strangulation from the blood in his throat, he hastened to thecamp on the shore of the lake, harnessed the dogs, and returned to theprostrate man; it was the work of a few moments to bind him securelyupon the sled. Skilfully MacNair guided his dogs through the maze ofthe black spruce swamp, and, throwing caution to the winds, crossed thelake, struck into the timber, and headed straight for Chloe Elliston'sschool. 

In the living-room of the little cottage on the Yellow Knife, HarrietPenny and Mary, the Louchoux girl, sat sewing, while Chloe Elliston, with chair pulled close to the table, read by the light of an oil-lampfrom a year-old magazine. If the Louchoux girl failed to follow theintricacies of the plot, an observer would scarcely have known it. Norwould he have guessed that less than two short months before this girlhad been a skin-clad native of the North who had mushed for thirty daysunattended through the heart of the barren grounds. So marvellouslyhad the girl improved and so desirously had she applied her needle, that save for the beaded moccasins upon her feet, her clothing differedin no essential detail from that of Chloe Elliston or of Harriet Penny. 

Chloe paused in her reading, and the three occupants of the little roomstared inquiringly into each other's faces as a rough-voiced "Whoa!"sounded from beyond the door. A moment of silence followed thecommand, and then came the sounds of a heavy footfall upon the veranda. The Louchoux girl sprang to the door, and as she wrenched it open theyellow lamplight threw into bold relief the huge figure of a man, who, bearing a blanket-wrapped form in his arms, staggered into the room, and, without a word deposited his burden upon the floor. The manlooked up, and Chloe Elliston started back with an exclamation of angryamazement. The man was Bob MacNair! And Chloe noticed that theLouchoux girl, after one terrified glance into his face, fledincontinently to the kitchen. 

"You! You!" cried Chloe, groping for words. 

The man interrupted her gruffly. "This is no time to talk. CorporalRipley has been shot. For three days I have burned up the snow gettinghim here. He's hard hit, but the bleeding has stopped, and a good bedand good nursing will pull him through. "

As he snapped out the words, MacNair busied himself in removing thewounded man's blankets and outer garments. Chloe gave some hurriedorders to Big Lena, and followed MacNair into her own room, where helaid the wounded man upon her bed--the same he, himself, had onceoccupied while recovering from the effect of Lapierre's bullet. Thenhe straightened and faced Chloe, who stood regarding him with flashingeyes. 

"So you did get away from him after all?" she said, "and when hefollowed you, you shot him! Just a boy--and you shot him in the back!"The voice trembled with the scorn of her words. MacNair pushed roughlypast her. 

"Don't be a damn fool!" he growled, and called over his shoulder:"Better rest him up for three or four days, and send him down to FortResolution. He'll stand the trip all right by that time, and thedoctor may want to poke around for that bullet. " Suddenly he whirledand faced her. "Where is Lapierre?" The words were a snarl. 

"So you want to kill him, too? Do you think I would tell you if Iknew? You--you _murderer_! Oh, if I--" But the sentence was cutshort by the loud banging of the door. MacNair had returned into thenight. 

An hour later, when she and Big Lena quitted the bedroom, CorporalRipley was breathing easily. Her thoughts turned at once to theLouchoux girl. She recalled the look of terror that had crept into thegirl's eyes as she gazed into the upturned face of MacNair. With theforce of a blow a thought flashed through her brain, and she clutchedat the edge of the table for support. What was it the girl had toldher about the man who had deceived her into believing she was his wife?He was a free-trader! MacNair was a free-trader! Could it be----

"No, no!" she gasped--"and yet----"

With an effort she crossed to the door of the girl's room and, pushingit open, entered to find her cowering, wide-eyed between her blankets. The sight of the beautiful, terrorized face did not need thecorroboration of the low, half-moaned words, "Oh, please, please, don'tlet him get me!" to tell Chloe that her worst fears were realized. 

"Do not be afraid, my dear, " she faltered. "He cannot harm you now, "and hurriedly closing the door, staggered across the living-room, threwherself into a chair beside the table, and buried her face in her arms. 

Harriet Penny opened her door and glanced timidly at the still figureof the girl, and, deciding it were the better part of prudence not tointrude, noiselessly closed her door. Hours later, Big Lena, enteringfrom the kitchen, regarded her mistress with a long vacant-faced stare, and returned again to the kitchen. All through the night Chloe dozedfitfully beside the table, but for the most part she waswidely--painfully--awake. Bitterly she reproached herself. Only sheknew the pain the discovery of MacNair's treachery had caused her. Andonly she knew why the discovery had caused her pain. 

Always she had believed she had hated this man. By all standards, sheshould hate him. This great, elemental brute of the North who hadfirst attempted to ignore, and later to ridicule and to bully her. This man who ruled his Indians with a rod of iron, who allowed themfull license in their debauchery, and then shot them down in coldblood, who shot a boy in the back while in the act of doing his duty, and who had called her a "damn fool" in her own house, and was eventhen off on the trail of another man he had sworn to kill on sight. Byall the laws of justice, equity, and decency, she should hate this man!She was conscious of no other feeling toward him than a burning, unquenchable hate. And yet, deep down in her heart she knew--by thepain of her discovery of his treachery--she knew she loved him, andutterly she despised herself that this could be so. 

Daylight softly dimmed the yellow lamplight of the room. The girlarose, and, after a hurried glance at the sleeping Ripley, bathed hereyes in cold water and passed into the kitchen, where Big Lena was busyin the preparation of breakfast. 

"Send LeFroy to me at once!" she ordered, and five minutes later, whenthe man stood before her, she ordered him to summon all of MacNair'sIndians. 

The man shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other as hefaced her upon the tiny veranda. "MacNair Injuns, " he answered, "demgon' las' night. Dem gon' 'long wit' MacNair. Heem gon' for huntPierre Lapierre!"

CHAPTER XXI

LAPIERRE PAYS A VISIT

Up on Snare Lake the men to whom Lapierre had passed the word had takenpossession of MacNair's burned and abandoned fort, and there the leaderhad joined them after stopping at Fort McMurray to tip off to Ripleyand Craig the bit of evidence that he hoped would clinch the caseagainst MacNair. More men joined the Snare Lake stampede--flat-facedbreeds from the lower Mackenzie, evil-visaged rivermen from the countryof the Athabasca and the Slave, and the renegade white men who wereLapierre's underlings. 

By dog-train and on foot they came, dragging their outfits behind them, and in the eyes of each was the gleam of the greed of gold. The fewcabins which had escaped the conflagration had been pre-empted by thefirst-comers, while the later arrivals pitched their tents and sheltertarps close against the logs of the unburned portion of MacNair'sstockade. 

At the time of Lapierre's arrival the colony had assumed the aspect ofa typical gold camp. The drifted snow had been removed from MacNair'sdiggings, and the night-fires that thawed out the gravel glared red andilluminated the clearing with a ruddy glow in which the dumps loomedblack and ugly, like unclean wens upon the white surface of thetrampled snow. 

Lapierre, a master of organization, saw almost at the moment of hisarrival that the gold-camp system of two-man partnerships could bevastly improved upon. Therefore, he formed the men into shifts: eighthours in the gravel and tending the fires, eight hours choppingcord-wood and digging in the ruins of MacNair's storehouse for theremains of unburned grub, and eight hours' rest. Always night and day, the seemingly tireless leader moved about the camp encouraging, cursing, bullying, urging; forcing the utmost atom of man-power intothe channels of greatest efficiency. For well the quarter-breed knewthat his tenure of the Snare Lake diggings was a tenure wholly bysufferance of circumstances--over which he, Lapierre, had no control. 

With MacNair safely lodged in the Fort Saskatchewan jail, he felt safefrom interference, at least until late in the spring. This would allowplenty of time for the melting snows to furnish the water necessary forthe cleaning up of the dumps. After that the fate of his colony hungupon the decision of a judge somewhere down in the provinces. ThusLapierre crowded his men to the utmost, and the increasing size of theblack dump-heaps bespoke a record-breaking clean-up when the waters ofthe melting snow should be turned into sluices in the spring. 

With his mind easy in his fancied security, and in order that everymoment of time and every ounce of man-power should be devoted to thedigging of gold, Lapierre had neglected to bring his rifles andammunition from the Lac du Mort rendezvous and from the storehouse ofChloe Elliston's school. An omission for which he cursed himselfroundly upon an evening, early in February when an Indian, gaunt andwide-eyed from the strain of a forced snow-trail, staggered from theblack shadow of the bush into the glare of the blazing night-fires, andin a frenzied gibberish of jargon proclaimed that Bob MacNair hadreturned to the Northland. And not only that he had returned, but hadvisited Lac du Mort in company with a man of the Mounted. 

At first Lapierre flatly refused to credit the Indian's yarn, but whenupon pain of death the man refused to alter his statement, and addedthe information that he himself had fired at MacNair from the shelterof a snow-ridden spruce, and that just as he pulled the trigger the manof the soldier-police had intervened and stopped the speeding bullet, Lapierre knew that the Indian spoke the truth. 

In the twinkling of an eye the quarter-breed realized the extremedanger of his position. His wrath knew no bounds. Up and down heraged in his fury, cursing like a madman, while all about him--blaming, reviling, advising--cursed the men of his ill-favoured crew. For not aman among them but knew that somewhere someone had blundered. And forsome inexplicable reason their situation had suddenly shifted fromcomparative security to extreme hazard. They needed not to be toldthat with MacNair at large in the Northland their lives hung by aslender thread. For at that very moment Brute MacNair was, in allprobability, upon the Yellow Knife leading his armed Indians towardSnare Lake. 

In addition to this was the certain knowledge that the vengeance of theMounted would fall in full measure upon the heads of all who were inany way associated with Pierre Lapierre. An officer had been shot, andthe men of Lapierre were outlawed from Ungava to the Western sea. Theintricate system had crumbled in the batting of an eye. Else whyshould a man of the Mounted have been found before the barricade of theBastile du Mort in company with Brute MacNair?

The quick-witted Lapierre was the first to recover from the shock ofthe stunning blow. Leaping onto the charred logs of MacNair'sstorehouse, he called loudly to his men, who in a panic were wildlythrowing their outfits onto sleds. Despite their mad haste theycrowded close and listened to the words of the man upon whose judgmentthey had learned to rely, and from whose dreaded "dismissal fromservice" they had cowered in fear. They swarmed about Lapierre ahundred strong, and his voice rang harsh. 

"You dogs! You _canaille_!" he cried, and they shrank from the balefulglare of his black eyes. "What would you do? Where would you go? Doyou think that, single-handed, you can escape from MacNair's Indians, who will follow your trails like hounds and kill you as they would killa snared rabbit? I tell you your trails will be short. A dead manwill lie at the end of each. But even if you succeed in escaping theIndians, what, then, of the Mounted? One by one, upon the rivers andlakes of the Northland, upon wide snow-steeps of the barren grounds, even to the shores of the frozen sea, you will be hunted and gatheredin. Or you will be shot like dogs, and your bones left to crunch inthe jaws of the wolf-pack. We are outlaws, all! Not a man of us willdare show his face in any post or settlement or city in all Canada. "

The men shrank before the words, for they knew them to be true. Againthe leader was speaking, and hope gleamed in fear-strained eyes. 

"We have yet one chance; I, Pierre Lapierre, have not played my lastcard. We will stand or fall together! In the Bastile du Mort are manyrifles, and ammunition and provisions for half a year. Once behind thebarricade, we shall be safe from any attack. We can defy MacNair'sIndians and stand off the Mounted until such time as we are in aposition to dictate our own terms. If we stand man to man together, wehave everything to gain and nothing to lose. We are outlawed, everyone. There is no turning back!"

Lapierre's bold assurance averted the threatened panic, and with a yellthe men fell to work packing their outfits for the journey to Lac duMort. The quarter-breed despatched scouts to the southward toascertain the whereabouts of MacNair, and, if possible, to find outwhether or not the officer of the Mounted had been killed by the shotof the Indian. 

At early dawn the outfit crossed Snare Lake and headed for Lac du Mortby way of Grizzly Bear, Lake Mackay, and Du Rocher. Upon the eveningof the fourth day, when they threaded the black-spruce swamp and pulledwearily into the fort on Lac du Mort, Lapierre found a scout awaitinghim with the news that MacNair had headed northward with his Indians, and that LeFroy was soon to start for Fort Resolution with the woundedman of the Mounted. Whereupon he selected the fastest and freshestdog-team available and, accompanied by a half-dozen of his most trustedlieutenants, took the trail for Chloe Elliston's school on-the YellowKnife, after issuing orders as to the conduct of defence in case of anattack by MacNair's Indians. 

Affairs at the school were at a standstill. From a busy hive ofactivity, with the women and children showing marked improvement attheir tasks, and the men happy in the felling of logs and thewhip-sawing of lumber, the settlement had suddenly slumped into adisorganized hodge-podge of unrest and anxiety. MacNair's Indians hadfollowed him into the North; their women and children brooded sullenly, and a feeling of unrest and expectancy pervaded the entire colony. 

Among the inmates of the cottage the condition was even worse. WithHarriet Penny hysterical and excited, Big Lena more glum and taciturnthan usual, the Louchoux girl cowering in mortal dread of impendingdisaster, and Chloe herself disgusted, discouraged, nursing in herheart a consuming rage against Brute MacNair, the man who had wroughtthe harm, and who had been her evil genius since she had first set footinto the North. 

Upon the afternoon of the day she despatched LeFroy to Fort Resolutionwith the wounded officer of the Mounted, Chloe stood at her littlewindow gazing out over the wide sweep of the river and wondering how itall would end. Would MacNair find Lapierre, and would he kill him? Orwould the Mounted heed the urgent appeal she despatched in care ofLeFroy and arrive in time to recapture MacNair before he came upon hisvictim?

"If I only knew where to find him, " she muttered, "I could warn him ofhis danger. "

The next moment her eyes widened with amazement, and she pressed herface close against the glass; across the clearing from the direction ofthe river dashed a dog-team, with three men running before and threebehind, while upon the sled, jaunty and smiling, and debonair as ever, sat Pierre Lapierre himself. With a flourish he swung the dogs up tothe tiny veranda and stepped from the sled, and the next moment Chloefound herself standing in the little living-room with Lapierre bowinglow over her hand. Harriet Penny was in the schoolhouse; the Louchouxgirl was helping Big Lena in the kitchen, and for the first time inmany moons Chloe Elliston felt glad that she was alone with Lapierre. 

When at length she removed her hand from his grasp she stood for somemoments regarding the clean-cut lines of his features, and then shesmiled as she noted the trivial fact that he had removed his hat, andthat he stood humbly before her with bared head. A great surge offeeling rushed over her as she realized how clean and good--how perfectthis man seemed in comparison with the hulking brutality of MacNair. She motioned him to a seat beside the table, and drawing her chairclose to his side, poured into his attentive and sympathetic ears allthat she knew of MacNair's escape, of the shooting of Corporal Ripley, and his departure in the night with his Indians. 

Lapierre listened, smiling inwardly at her version of the affair, andat the conclusion of her words leaned forward and took one of the slimbrown hands in his. For a long, long time the girl listened in silenceto the pleading of his lips; and the little room was filled with thepassion of his low-voiced eloquence. 

Neither was aware of the noiseless opening of a door, nor of thewide-eyed, girlish face that stared at them through the aperture, norwas either aware that the man's words were borne distinctly to the earsof the Louchoux girl. Nor could they note the change from anexpression of startled surprise to slitlike, venomous points of firethat took place in the eyes of the listening girl--nor the clenchingfists. Nor did they hear the soft, catlike tread with which the girlquit the door and crossed to the kitchen table. Nor could they see thecruel snarl of her lips as her fingers closed tightly about the haft ofthe huge butcher-knife, whose point was sharp and whose blade was keen. Nor did they hear the noiseless tread with which the girl againapproached the door, swung wider now to admit the passage of her tense, lithe body. Nor did they see her crouch for a spring with thetight-clutched knife upraised and the gleaming slitlike eyes focusedupon a point mid-way between Lapierre's shoulder-blades as his armunconsciously came to rest upon the back of Chloe Elliston's chair. 

For a long moment the girl poised, gloating--enjoying in its fulnessthe measure of her revenge. Before her, leaning in just the rightattitude to receive upon his defenceless back the full force of theblow, sat the man who had deceived her. For not until she had listenedto the low-voiced, impassioned words had she realized there had beenany deception. With the realization came the hot, fierce flame ofanger that seared her very soul. An anger engendered by her own wrong, and fanned to its fiercest by the knowledge that the man was at thatmoment seeking to deceive the white woman--the woman who had taught hermuch, and who with the keenest interest and gentleness had treated heras an equal. 

She had come to love this white woman with the love that was greaterthan the love of life. And the words to which this woman was nowlistening were the same words, from the same lips, to which she herselfhad listened beside the cold waters of the far-off Mackenzie. Thus theLouchoux girl faced suddenly her first great problem. And to thehalf-savage mind of her the solution of the problem seemed very simple, very direct, and, had Big Lena not entered by way of the outer door atthe precise moment that the girl crouched with uplifted knife, it woulddoubtless have been very effective. 

But Big Lena did enter, and, with a swiftness of perception that beliedthe vacuous stare of the fishlike eyes, took in the situation at aglance; for LeFroy had already hinted to her of the relation whichexisted between his erstwhile superior and this girl from the land ofthe midnight sun. Whereupon Big Lena had kept her own counsel and hadpatiently bided her time, and now her time had come, and she was in nowise minded that the fulness of her vengeance should be marred by theuntimely taking off of Lapierre. Swiftly she crossed the room, and asher strong fingers closed about the wrist of the Indian girl's upraisedknife-arm, the other hand reached beyond and noiselessly closed thedoor between the two rooms. 

The Louchoux girl whirled like a flash and sank her strong, white teethdeep in the rolled-sleeved forearm of the huge Swedish woman. But athumb, inserted dextrously and with pressure in the little hollowbehind the girl's ear, caused her jaws instantly to relax, and shestood trembling before the big woman, who regarded her with a tolerantgrin, and the next moment laid a friendly hand upon her shoulder and, turning her gently about, guided her to a chair at the farther side ofthe room. 

Followed then a quarter of an hour of earnest conversation, in whichthe older woman managed to convey, through the medium of her brokenEnglish, a realization that Lapierre's discomfiture could beencompassed much more effectively and in a thoroughly orthodox and lesssanguinary manner. 

The ethics of Big Lena's argument were undoubtedly beyond the Louchouxgirl's comprehension; but because this woman had been good to her, andbecause she seemed greatly to desire this thing, the girl consented toabstain from violence, at least for the time being. A few minuteslater, when Chloe Elliston opened the door and announced that Mr. Lapierre would join them at supper, she found the two women busilyengaged in the final preparation of the meal. 

Big Lena passed into the dining-room, which was also the living-room, and without deigning to notice Lapierre's presence, proceeded to laythe table for supper. Returning to the kitchen, she despatched theIndian girl to the storehouse upon an errand which would insure herabsence until after Chloe and Lapierre and Harriet Penny had takentheir places at the table. 

Since her arrival at the school the Louchoux girl had been treated as"one of the family, " and it was with a look of inquiry toward thegirl's empty chair that Chloe seated herself with the others. Interpreting the look, Big Lena assured her that the girl would returnin a few moments; and Chloe had just launched into an impassionedaccount of the virtues and the accomplishments of her ward, when thedoor opened and the girl herself entered the room and crossed swiftlyto her accustomed place. As she stood with her hand on the back of herchair, Lapierre for the first time glanced into her face. 

The quarter-breed was a man trained as few men are trained to meetemergencies, to face crises with an impassiveness of countenance thatwould shame the Sphinx. He had lost thousands across the green clothof gambling-tables without batting an eye. He had faced death and hadkilled men with a face absolutely devoid of expression, and uponnumerous occasions his nerve--the consummate _sang-froid_ of him--hadalone thrown off the suspicion that would have meant arrest uponcharges which would have taken more than a lifetime to expiate. And ashe sat at the little table beside Chloe Elliston, his eyes metunflinchingly the flashing, accusing gaze of the black eyes of the girlfrom the Northland--the girl who was his wife. 

For a long moment their glances held, while the atmosphere of thelittle room became surcharged with the terrible portent of this silentbattle of eyes. Harriet Penny gasped audibly; and as Chloe stared fromone to the other of the white, tense faces before her, her brain seemedsuddenly to numb, and the breath came short and quick between herparted lips to the rapid heaving of her bosom. The Louchoux girl'seyes seemed fairly to blaze with hate. The fingers of her hand duginto the wooden back of her chair until the knuckles whitened. Sheleaned far forward and, pointing directly into the face of the man, opened her lips to speak. It was then Lapierre's gaze wavered, for inthat moment he realized that for him the game was lost. 

With a half-smothered curse he leaped to his feet, overturning hischair, which banged sharply upon the plank floor. He glanced wildlyabout the little room as if seeking means of escape, and his eyesencountered the form of Big Lena, who stood stolidly in the doorway, blocking the exit. In a flash he noted the huge, bared forearm; noted, too, that one thick hand gripped tightly the helve of a chopping ax, with which she toyed lightly as if it were a little thing, while thethumb of her other hand played smoothly, but with a certain terriblesignificance, along the keen edge of its blade. Lapierre's glanceflashed to her face and encountered the fishlike stare of thechina-blue eyes, as he had encountered it once before. The eyes, asbefore, were expressionless upon their surface, but deep down--far intotheir depths--Lapierre caught a cold gleam of mockery. And then theLouchoux girl was speaking, and he turned upon her with a snarl. 

CHAPTER XXII

CHLOE WRITES A LETTER

When Bob MacNair, exasperated beyond all patience by Chloe Elliston'sfoolish accusation, stamped angrily from the cottage, after depositingthe wounded Ripley upon the bed, he proceeded at once to the barracks, where he sought out Wee Johnnie Tamarack, who informed him that Lapierrewas up on Snare Lake, at the head of a band of men who had alreadysucceeded in dotting the snow of the barren grounds with the black dumpsof many shafts. Whereupon he ordered Wee Johnnie Tamarack to assemblethe Indians at once at the storehouse. 

No sooner had the old Indian departed upon his mission than the door ofthe barracks was pushed violently open and Big Lena entered, dragging bythe arm the thoroughly cowed figure of LeFroy. At sight of the man who, under Lapierre's orders, had wrought the destruction of his post at SnareLake, MacNair leaped forward with a snarl of anger. But before he couldreach the trembling man the form of Big Lena interposed, and MacNairfound himself swamped by a jargon of broken English that taxed to theutmost his power of comprehension. 

"Ju yoost vait vun meenit. Ay tal ju som'ting gude. Dis damn LeFroy, hebane bad man. He vork by Lapierre, and he tak' de vhiskey to jourInjuns, but he don't vork no more by Lapierre; he vork by me. Ay goin'to marry him, and ju bet Ay keep him gude, or Ay bust de stove chunk'crost his head. He vork by Mees Chloe now, and he lak ju gif him chanceto show he ain't no bad man no more. "

Big Lena shook the man roughly by way of emphasis, and MacNair smiled ashe noted the foolish grin with which LeFroy submitted to the inevitable. For years he had known LeFroy as a bad man, second only to Lapierre incunning and brutal cruelty; and to see him now, cowering under thedomination of his future spouse, was to MacNair the height of theridiculous--but MacNair was unmarried. 

"All right, " he growled, and LeFroy's relief at the happy termination ofthe interview was plainly written upon his features, for this meeting hadnot been of his own seeking. The memory of the shots which had taken offtwo of his companions that night on Snare Lake, was still fresh, and inhis desire to avoid a meeting with MacNair he had sought refuge in thekitchen. Whereupon Big Lena had taken matters into her own hands andliterally dragged him into MacNair's presence, replying to his terrifiedprotest that if MacNair was going to kill him, he was going to kill andhe might as well have it over with. 

Thus it was that the relieved LeFroy leaped with alacrity to obey when, amoment later, MacNair ordered him to the storehouse to break out thenecessary provisions for a ten-days' journey for all his Indians. Sowell did the half-breed execute the order that upon MacNair's arrival atthe store-house he found LeFroy not only supplying provisions with alavish hand, but taking huge delight in passing out to the waitingIndians Lapierre's Mauser rifles and ammunition. 

When MacNair, with his Indians, reached Snare Lake, it was to find thatPierre Lapierre had taken himself and his outlaws to the Lac du Mortrendezvous. Whereupon he immediately despatched thirty Indians back toLeFroy for the supplies necessary to follow Lapierre to his stronghold. Awaiting the return of the supply train, MacNair employed his remainingIndians in getting out logs for the rebuilding of his fort, and he smiledgrimly as his eyes roved over the dumps--the rich dumps which representedtwo months' well-directed labour of a gang of a hundred men. 

As Chloe Elliston sat in the little living-room and listened to theimpassioned words of Lapierre, the man's chance of winning her was farbetter than at any time in the whole course of their acquaintance. Without in the least realizing it, the girl had all along held a certainregard for MacNair--a regard that was hard to explain, and that the girlherself would have been the first to disavow. She hated him! Andyet--she was forced to admit even to herself, the man fascinated her. But never until the moment of the realization of his true character, asforced upon her by the action and words of the Louchoux girl, had sheentertained the slightest suspicion that she loved him. And with thediscovery had come a sense of shame and humiliation that had all butbroken her spirit. 

Her hatred for MacNair was real enough now. That hatred, the shame andhumility, and the fact that Lapierre was pleading with her as he hadnever pled before, were going far to convince the girl that her previousestimate of the quarter-breed had been a mistaken estimate, and that hewas in truth the fine, clean, educated man of the North which on thesurface he appeared to be. A man whose aim it was to deal fairly andhonourably with the Indians, and who in reality had the best interests ofhis people at heart. 

No one but Chloe herself will ever know how near she came upon thatafternoon to yielding to his pleading, and laying her soul bare to him. But something interposed--fate? Destiny? The materialist smiles"supper. " Be that as it may, had she yielded to Lapierre's plans, theywould have stolen from the school that very night and proceeded to FortRae, to be married by the priest at the Mission. For Lapierre, fullyalive to the danger of delay, had eloquently pleaded his cause. 

Not only was MacNair upon his trail--MacNair the relentless, theindomitable--but also the word had passed in the North, and the men ofthe Mounted--those inscrutable sentinels of the silence whose watchwordis "get the man"--were aroused to avenge a comrade. And Lapierrerealized with a chill in his heart that he was "the man"! His one chancelay in a timely marriage with Chloe Elliston, and a quick dash for theStates. If the dash succeeded, he had nothing to fear. Even if itfailed, and he fell into the hands of the Mounted--with the Ellistonmillions behind him, he felt he could snap his fingers in the face of thelaw. Men of millions do not serve time. 

For the men who awaited him in the Bastile du Mort, Lapierre gave nothought. He would stand by them as long as it furthered his own ends tostand by them. When they ceased to be a factor in his own safety, theycould shift for themselves, even as he, Lapierre, was shifting forhimself. Someone has said every man has his price. It is certain thatevery man has his limit beyond which he may not go. 

Lapierre, a man of consummate nerve, had put forth a final effort to savehimself. Had put forth the best effort that was in him to induce ChloeElliston to marry him. He had found the girl kinder, more receptive thanhe had dared hope. His spirits arose to a point they had never beforeattained. Success seemed within his grasp. Then, suddenly, just as hisfingers were about to close upon the prize--the prize that meant to himlife and plenty, instead of death--the Louchoux girl, a passing folly ofa bygone day, had suddenly risen up and confronted him--and he knew thathis cause was lost. 

Lapierre had reached his limit of control, and when he turned at thesound of the Indian girl's voice, his hand instinctively flew to hisbelt. In his rage at the sudden turn of events, he became for theinstant a madman, whose one thought was to destroy her who had wroughtthe harm. The next instant the snarl died upon his lips and his handdropped limply to his side. In two strides Big Lena was upon him and herthick fingers bit deep into his shoulder as she spun him to face her--toface the polished bit of the keen-edged ax which the huge womanflourished carelessly within an inch of his nose. 

The fingers released their grip, Lapierre's gun was jerked from itsholster, and a moment later thumped heavily upon the floor of the kitchenfifteen feet away, while the woman pointed grimly toward the overturnedchair. Lapierre righted the chair, and as he sank into it, Chloe, whohad stared dumbfounded upon the scene, saw that little beads of sweatstood out sharply against the pallor of his bloodless brow. As from agreat distance the words of the Louchoux girl fell upon her ears. Shewas speaking rapidly, and the finger which she pointed at Lapierretrembled violently. 

"You lied!" cried the girl. "You have always lied! You lied when youtold me we were married. You lied when you said you would return! Sincecoming to this school I have learned much. Many things have I learnedthat I never knew before. When you said you would return, I believedyou--even as my mother believed my father when he went away in the shipmany years ago, and left me a babe in arms to live or to die among theteepees of the Louchoux, the people of my mother, who was the mother ofhis child. My mother has not been to the school, and she believes someday my father will return. For many years she has waited, has starved, and has suffered--always watching for my father's return. And thefactors have laughed, and the rivermen taunted her with being the motherof a fatherless child! Ah, she has paid! Always the Indian women mustpay! And I have paid also. All my life have I been hungry, and in thewinter I have always been cold. 

"Then you came with your laughing lips and your words of love and I wentwith you, and you took me to distant rivers. All through the summerthere was plenty to eat in our teepee. I was happy, and for the firsttime in my life my heart was glad--for I loved you! And then came thewinter, and the freezing up of the rivers, and the day you told me youmust return to the southward--to the land of the white men--without me. And I believed you even when they told me you would not return. I wasbrave--for that is the way of love, to believe, and to hope, and to bebrave. "

The girl's voice faltered, and the trembling hand gripped the back of thechair upon which she leaned heavily for support. 

"All my life have I paid, " she continued, bitterly. "Yet, it was notenough. Years, when the children of the trappers had at times plenty toeat I was always hungry and cold. 

"When you came into my life I thought at last I had paid in full--that mymother and I both had paid for her belief in the white man's word. Ah, if I had known! I should have known, for well I remember, it was uponthe day before--before I went away with you--that I told you of myfather, and of how we always went North in the winter, knowing that againhis ship would winter in the ice of the Bufort Sea. And you heard thestory and laughed, and you said that my father would not return--that thewhite men never return. And when I grew afraid, you told me that youwere part Indian. That your people were my people. I was a fool! Ilistened to your words!"

The girl dropped heavily into her chair and buried her face in her arms. 

"And now I know, " she sobbed, "that I have not even begun to pay!"

Suddenly she leaped to her feet and, dashing around the table placedherself between Lapierre and Chloe, who had listened white-lipped to herwords. Once more the voice of the Louchoux girl rang through theroom--high-pitched and thin with anger now--and the eyes that glared intothe eyes of Lapierre blazed black with fury. 

"You have lied to her! But you cannot harm her! With my own ears Iheard your words! The same words I heard from your lips before, upon thebanks of the far-off rivers, and the words are lies--lies--lies!"--thevoice rose to a shriek--"the white woman is good! She is my friend! Shehas taught me much, and now, I will save her. "

With a swift movement she caught the carving-knife from the table andsprang toward the defenceless Lapierre. "I will cut your heart in littlebits and feed it to the dogs!"

Once more the hand of Big Lena wrenched the knife from the girl's grasp. And once more the huge Swedish woman fixed Lapierre with her vacuousstare. Then slowly she raised her arm and pointed toward the door: "Jugit! And never ju don't come back no more. Ay don't lat ju go 'cause Aylak' ju, but Ay bane 'fraid dis leetle girl she cut ju up and feed ju tode dogs, and Ay no lak' for git dem dogs poison!"

And Lapierre tarried not for further orders. Pausing only to recover hishat from its peg on the wall, he opened the outer door and with onesidewise malevolent glance toward the little group at the table, slunkhurriedly from the room. 

Hardly had the door closed behind him than Chloe, who had sat as onestunned during the girl's accusation and her later outburst of fury, leaped to her feet and seized her arm in a convulsive grip. "Tell me!"she cried; "what do you mean? Speak! Speak, can't you? What is thisyou have said? What is it all about?"

"Why it is he, Pierre Lapierre. He is the free-trader of whom I toldyou. The man who--who deceived me into believing I was his wife. "

"But, " cried Chloe, staring at her in astonishment. "I thought--Ithought MacNair was the man!"

"No! No! No!" cried the girl. "Not MacNair! Pierre Lapierre, he isthe man! He who sat in that chair, and whose heart I would cut into tinybits that you shall not be made to pay, even as I have paid, forlistening to the words of his lips. "

"But, " faltered Chloe, "I don't--I don't understand. Surely, you, fearMacNair. Surely, that night when he came into the room, carrying thewounded policeman, you fled from him in terror. "

"MacNair is a white man----"

"But why should you fear him?"

"I fear him, " she answered, "because among the Indians--among theLouchoux--the people of my mother, and among the Eskimoes, he is called'The Bad Man of the North. ' I hated him because Lapierre taught me tohate him. I do not hate him now, nor do I fear him. But among theIndians and among the free-traders he is both hated and feared. Hechases the free-traders from the rivers, and he kills them and destroystheir whiskey. For he has said, like the men of the soldier-police, thatthe red man shall drink no whiskey. But the red men like the whiskey. Their life is hard and they do not have much happiness, and the whiskeyof the white man makes them happy. And in the days before MacNair theycould get much whiskey, but now the free-traders fear him, and onlysometimes do they dare to bring whiskey to the land of the far-off rivers. 

"At the posts my people may trade for food and for guns and for clothing, but they may not buy whiskey. But the free-traders sell whiskey. Alsothey will trade for the women. But MacNair has said they shall not tradefor the women. At times, when men think he is far away, he comesswooping through the North with his Snare Lake Indians at his heels, andthey chase the free-traders from the rivers. And on the shores of thefrozen sea he chases the whalemen from the Eskimo villages even to theirships which lie far out from the coast, locked in the grip of theice-pack. 

"For these things I have hated and feared him. Since I have been here atthe school I have learned much. Both from your teachings, and fromtalking with the women of MacNair's Indians. I know now that MacNair isgood, and that the factors and the soldier-police and the priest spokewords of truth, and that Lapierre and the free-traders lied!"

As the Indian girl poured forth her story, Chloe Elliston listened as onein a dream. What was this she was saying, that it was Lapierre who soldwhiskey to the Indians, and MacNair who stood firm, and struck mightyblows for the right of things? Surely, this girl's mind wasunhinged--or, had something gone wrong with her own brain? Was itpossible she had heard aright?

Suddenly she remembered the words of Corporal Ripley, when he asked herto withdraw the charge of murder against MacNair: "In the North we knowsomething of MacNair's work. " And again: "We know the North needs menlike MacNair. "

Could it be possible that after all--with the thought there flashed intothe girl's mind the scene on Snare Lake. Had she not seen with her owneyes the evidence of this man's work among the Indians! With a gestureof appeal she turned to Big Lena. 

"Surely, Lena, you remember that night on Snare Lake? You saw MacNair'sIndians, drunk as fiends--and the buildings all on fire? You saw MacNairkicking and knocking them about? And you saw him fire the shots thatkilled two men? Speak, can't you? Did you see these things? Did I seethem? Was I dreaming? Or am I dreaming now?"

Big Lena shifted her weight ponderously, and the stare of the china-blueeyes met steadily the half-startled eyes of the girl. "Yah, Ay seen dasall right. Dem Injuns dey awful drunk das night and MacNair he come'long and schlap dem and kick dem 'round. But das gude for dem. Dey gotit comin'. Dey should not ought to drink Lapierre's vhiskey. "

"Lapierre's whiskey!" cried the girl. "Are you crazy?"

"Naw, Ay tank Ay ain't so crazy. Lapierre he fool ju long tam'. "

"What do you mean, " asked Chloe. 

"Ah, das a'right, " answered the woman. "He fool ju gude, but he ain'tfool Big Lena. Ay know all about him for a jear. "

"But, " pursued the girl, "Lapierre was with us that night!"

Lena shrugged. "Yah, Lapierre very smart. He send LeFroy 'long wit' dasvhiskey. Den v'en he know MacNair's Injuns git awful drunk, he tak' ju'long for see it. "

"LeFroy!" cried Chloe. "Why, LeFroy was off to the eastward trying torun down some whiskey-runners. "

Big Lena laughed derisively. "How ju fin' out?" she asked. 

Chloe hesitated. "Why--why, Lapierre told me. "

Again Big Lena laughed. "Yah, Lapierre tal ju, but, LeFroy, he don'tknow nuthin' 'bout no vhiskey-runners. Only him and Lapierre dos all devhiskey-running in dis country. LeFroy, he tal me all 'bout das. Hetak' das vhiskey up dere and he sell it to MacNair's Injuns, and MacNairshoot after him and kill two LeFroy's men. Ay goin' marry LeFroy, and hetal me de trut'. He 'fraid to lie to me, or Ay break him in two. LeFroy, he bane gude man now, he quit Lapierre. Ju bet ju if he don'tbane gude Ay gif him haal. Ay tal him it bane gude t'ing if MacNair killhim das night. 

"Den MacNair come on de school and brung de policeman, LeFroy he 'fraidfor scart, and he goin' hide in de kitchen, and Ay drag him out and brunghim 'long to see MacNair. LeFroy, he 'fraid lak' haal. He squealMacNair goin' kill him. But Ay tal him das ain't much loss annyhow. Ifhe goin' kill him it's besser he kill him now, den Ay ain't got to bodderwit' him no more. But MacNair, he don't kill him. Ay tal him LeFroygoin' to be gude man now, and den MacNair he laugh, and tal LeFroy to go'long and git out de grub. "

"But, " cried Chloe, "you say you have known all about Lapierre for ayear, and you knew all the time that MacNair was right, and Lapierre waswrong, and you let me go blindly on thinking Lapierre was my friend, andtreating MacNair as I did! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ju got yoost so manny eyes lak' me!" retorted the woman. "Ju neffer askme vat Ay tank 'bout MacNair and 'bout Lapierre. And Ay neffer tal judas 'cause Ay tank it besser ju fin' out yourself. Ay know ju got tofin' das out sometam'. Den ju believe it. Ju know lot 'bout vat standsin de books, but das mos' lak' MacNair say: 'bout lot t'ing, you damnfool!"

Chloe gasped. It was the longest speech Big Lena had ever made. And thegirl learned that when the big woman chose she could speak straight fromthe shoulder. 

Harriet Penny gasped also. She pushed back her chair, and shook anoutraged finger at Big Lena. "Go into the kitchen where you belong!" shecried. "I really cannot permit such language in my presence. You areunspeakably coarse!"

Chloe whirled on the little woman like a flash. "You shut up, HatPenny!" she snapped savagely. "You don't happen to do the permittingaround here. If your ears are too delicate to listen to _the truth_ youbetter go into your own room and shut the door. " And then crossingswiftly to her own room, she opened the door, but before entering sheturned to Big Lena, "Make a pot of strong coffee, " she ordered, "andbring it to me here. "

A few minutes later when the woman entered and deposited the traycontaining coffee-pot, cream-pitcher, and sugar-bowl upon the table, shefound Chloe striding up and down the room. There was a new light in thegirl's eyes, and, very much to Big Lena's surprise, she turned suddenlyupon her and throwing her arms about the massive shoulders, planted akiss squarely upon the wide, flat mouth. 

"Ah, Lena, " she cried, happily, "you--you are a dear!" And the Swedishwoman, with unexpected gentleness, patted the girl's shoulder, and as shepassed out of the door smiled broadly. 

For an hour Chloe paced up and down the little room. At first she couldscarcely bring herself to realize that the two men, MacNair and Lapierre, had changed places. She remembered that in that very room she had morethan once pictured that very thing. As the conviction grew upon her, herpulse quickened. Never before had she been so supremely--so wildlyhappy. There was a strange barbaric singing in her heart, as for thefirst time she saw MacNair--the real MacNair at his true worth. MacNair, the big man, the really great man, strong and brave, alone in the Northfighting, night and day, against the snarling wolves of the world-waste. Fighting for the good of his Indians and the right of things as theyshould be. 

Her mind dwelt upon the fine courage and the patience of him. Sherecalled the hurt look in his eyes when she ordered his arrest. Sheremembered his words to the officer--words of kindly apology for her ownblind folly. She penetrated the rough exterior, and read the realgentleness of his soul. And then, with a shame and mortification thatalmost overwhelmed her, she saw herself as she must appear to him. Sherecollected how she had accused him, had sneered at him, had called him aliar and a thief, a murderer, and worse. 

Tears streamed unheeded from her eyes as she recalled the unconsciouspathos of his words as he stood beside his mother's grave. And the lookof reproach with which he sank, to the ground when Lapierre's bullet laidhim low. Her heart thrilled at the memory of the blazing wrath of him, the cold gleam of his eyes, the wicked snap of his iron jaw, as he said, "I have taken the man-trail!" She remembered the words he had oncespoken: "When you have learned the North, we shall be friends. " Shewondered now if possibly this thing could ever be? Had she learned theNorth? Could she ever atone in his eyes for her cocksureness, her blindegotism?

Chloe quickened her pace, as if to walk away and leave these thingsbehind. How she hated herself! It seemed to her, in her shame andmortification, that she could never look into this man's eyes again. Herglance strayed to the portrait of Tiger Elliston that stared down at herfrom its bullet-shattered frame upon the wall. The eyes of the portraitseemed to bore deep into her own, and the words of MacNair flashedthrough her brain--the words he had used as he gazed into the eyes ofthat selfsame portrait. 

Unconsciously--fiercely she repeated those words aloud: "By God! Yon isthe face of a _man_!" She started at the sound of her own voice. Andthen, like liquid flame, it seemed to the girl the blood of TigerElliston seethed and boiled in her veins--spurring her on to _do_!

"Do what?" she questioned. "What was there left to _do_, for one who hadblundered so miserably?"

Like a flash came the answer. She had done MacNair a great wrong. Shemust right that wrong, or at least admit it. She must own her error andoffer an apology. 

Seating herself at the table, she seized a pen and wrote rapidly for along, long time. And then for a long time more she sat buried inthought, and at the end of an hour she arose and tore up the pages shehad written, and sat down again and penned another letter which sheplaced in an envelope addressed with the name of MacNair. This done shetook the letter, tiptoed across the living-room, and pushing open theLouchoux girl's door entered and seated herself upon the edge of the bed. The Indian girl was wide awake. A brown hand stole from beneath thecovers and clasped reassuringly about Chloe's fingers. 

She handed the girl the letter. 

"I can trust you, " she said, "to place this in MacNair's hands. Go tosleep now, I will talk further with you tomorrow. " And with a hurriedgood-night, Chloe returned to her own room. 

She blew out the lamp and threw herself fully dressed upon the bed. Sleep would not come. She stared long at the little patch of moonlightthat showed upon the bare floor. She tried to think, but her heart wasfilled with a strange restlessness. Arising from the bed, she crossed tothe window and stared out across the moonlit clearing toward the darkedge of the forest--the mysterious forest whose depths seemed black withsinister mystery--whose trees bed-coned, stretching out their brancheslike arms. 

A strange restlessness came over her. The confines of the little roomseemed smothering--crushing her. Crossing to the row of pegs she drew onher _parka_ and heavy mittens, and tiptoeing to the outer door, passedout into the night, crossed the moonlit clearing, and steppedhalf-fearfully into the deep shadow of the forest--to the call of thebeckoning arms. 

As her form was swallowed up in the blackness, another form--a giganticfigure that bore clutched in the grasp of a capable hand the helve of anax, upon the polished steel of whose double-bitted blade the moonbeamsgleamed cruelly--slipped from the door of the kitchen and followedswiftly in the wake of the girl. Big Lena was taking no chances. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WOLF-CRY!

So sudden and unexpected had been Lapierre's _dénouement_ at the handsof the Indian girl and Big Lena, that when he quitted Chloe Elliston'sliving-room the one thought in his mind was to return to his strongholdon Lac du Mort. For the first time the real seriousness of hissituation forced itself upon him. He knew that no accident had broughtthe officer of the Mounted to the Lac du Mort stronghold in companywith Bob MacNair, and he realized the utter futility of attempting anescape to the outside, since the shooting of the officer at the verywalls of the stockade. 

As the husband of Chloe Elliston, the thing might have beenaccomplished. But alone or in company with the half-dozen outlaws whohad accompanied him to the school, never. There was but one courseopen to him: To return to Lac du Mort and make a stand against theauthorities and against MacNair. And the fact that the man realized inall probability it would be his last stand, was borne to theunderstanding of the men who accompanied him. 

These men knew nothing of the reason for Lapierre's trip to the school, but they were not slow to perceive that whatever the reason was, Lapierre had failed in its accomplishment. For they knew Lapierre as aman who rarely lost his temper. 

They knew him as one equal to any emergency--one who would shoot a mandown in cold blood for disobeying an order or relaxing vigilance, butwho would shoot with a smile rather than a frown. 

Thus when Lapierre joined them in their camp at the edge of theclearing, and with a torrent of unreasoning curses ordered the dogsharnessed and the outfit got under way for Lac du Mort, they knew theircause was at best a forlorn hope. 

Darkness overtook them and they camped to await the rising of the latemoon. While the men prepared the supper, Lapierre glowered upon hissled by the fire, occasionally leaping to his feet to stamp impatientlyup and down upon the snow. The leader spoke no word and none venturedto address him. The meal was eaten in silence. At its conclusion themen took heart and sprang eagerly to obey an order--the order puzzledthem not a little, but no man questioned it. For the command camecrisp and sharp, and without profanity, in a voice they well knew. Lapierre was himself again, and his black eyes gleamed wickedly as herolled a cigarette by the light of the rising moon. 

The dogs were whirled upon the back-trail, and once more the outfitheaded for the school upon the bank of the Yellow Knife. It was welltoward midnight when Lapierre called a halt. They were close to theedge of the clearing. Leaving one man with the dogs and motioning theothers to follow, he stole noiselessly from tree to tree until the dullsquare of light that glowed from the window of Chloe Elliston's roomshowed distinctly through the interlacing branches. The quarters ofthe Indians were shrouded in darkness. For a long time Lapierre stoodstaring at the little square of light, while his men, motionless asstatues, blended into the shadows of the trees. The light wasextinguished. The quarter-breed moved to the edge of the clearing and, seating himself upon the root of a gnarled banskian, rapidly outlinedhis plan. 

Suddenly his form stiffened and he drew close against the trunk of histree, motioning the others to do likewise. The door of the cottage hadopened. A parka-clad figure stepped from the little veranda, pauseduncertainly in the moonlight, and then, with light, swinging strides, moved directly toward the banskian. Lapierre's pulse quickened, andhis lips twisted into an evil smile. That the figure was none otherthan Chloe Elliston was easily discernible in the bright moonlight, andwith fiendish satisfaction the quarter-breed realized that the girl wasplaying directly into his hands. For, as he sat upon the sled besidethe little camp-fire, his active brain had evolved a new scheme. IfChloe Elliston could not be made to accompany him willingly, why notunwillingly?

Lapierre believed that once safely entrenched behind the barriers ofthe Bastile du Mort, he could hold out for a matter of six monthsagainst any forces which were likely to attack him. He realized thathis most serious danger was from MacNair and his Indians. For Lapierreknew MacNair. He knew that once upon his trail, MacNair wouldrelentlessly stick to that trail--the trail that must end at agrave--many graves, in fact. For as the forces stood, Lapierre knewthat many men must die, and bitterly he cursed LeFroy for disclosing toMacNair the whereabouts of the Mausers concealed in the storehouse. 

The inevitable attack of the Mounted he knew would come later. For theman knew their methods. He knew that a small detachment, one officer, or perhaps two, would appear before the barricade and demand hissurrender, and when surrender was refused, a report would go in toheadquarters, and after that--Lapierre shrugged--well, that was aproblem of tomorrow. In the meantime, if he held Chloe Ellistonprisoner under threat of death, it was highly probable that he coulddeal to advantage with MacNair, and, at the proper time, with theMounted. If not--_Voilà_! It was a fight to the death, anyway. Andagain Lapierre shrugged. 

Nearer and nearer drew the unsuspecting figure of the girl. The mannoted the haughty, almost arrogant beauty of her, as the moonlightplayed upon the firm resolute features, framed by the oval of her_parka_-hood. The next instant she paused in the shadow of hisbanskian, almost at his side. Lapierre sprang to his feet and stoodfacing her there in the snow. The smile of the thin lips hardened ashe noted the sudden pallor of her face and the look of wild terror thatflashed for a moment from her eyes. And then, almost on the instant, the girl's eyes narrowed, the firm white chin thrust forward, and thered lips curled into a sneer of infinite loathing and contempt. Instinctively, Lapierre knew that the hands within the heavy mittenshad clenched into fighting fists. For an instant she faced him, andthen, drawing away as if he were some grizzly, loathsome thingpoisoning the air he breathed, she spoke. Her voice trembled with thefury of her words, and Lapierre winced to the lash of a woman's scorn. 

"You--you _dog_!" she cried. "You dirty, low-lived _cur_! How _dare_you stand there grinning? How _dare_ you show your face? Oh, if Iwere a man I would--I would strangle the life from your vile, sneakingbody with my two hands!"

The words ended in a stifled cry. With a snarl, Lapierre sprang uponher, pinning her arms to her side. The next instant before his eyesloomed the form of Big Lena, who leaped toward him with upraised axswung high. In the excitement of the moment, the man had not noted herapproach. With a swift movement he succeeded in forcing the body ofthe girl between himself and the up-raised blade. 

With a shrill cry of rage Lena dropped the ax and rushed to a grip. Sounded then a sickening thud, and the huge woman pitched face downwardinto the snow, while behind her one of Lapierre's outlaws tossed aheavy club into the bush and rushed to the assistance of his chief. The others came, and with incredible rapidity Chloe Elliston was gaggedand bound hand and foot, and the men were carrying her to the waitingsled. 

For a moment Lapierre hesitated, gazing longingly toward the cottage ashe debated in his mind the advisability of rushing across the clearingand settling his score with Mary, the Louchoux girl, whose unexpectedappearance had turned the tide so strongly against him. 

"Better let well enough alone!" he growled savagely. "I must reach Lacdu Mort ahead of MacNair. " And he turned with a curse from theclearing to see an outlaw, with knife unsheathed, stooping over theunconscious form of Big Lena. The quarter-breed kicked the knife fromthe man's hand. 

"Bring her along!" he ordered gruffly. "I will attend to her later. "And, despite the hurt of his bruised fingers, the man grinned as henoted the venomous gleam in the leader's eye. For not only wasLapierre thinking of the proselyting of LeFroy, who had been his mosttrusted lieutenant, but of his own disarming, and the meaning stare ofthe fishlike eyes that had prompted him to abandon his attempt topoison MacNair when wounded in Chloe Elusion's room. 

It was yet early when, as had become her custom, the Louchoux girldressed hurriedly and made her way to the kitchen to help Lena in thepreparation of breakfast. To her surprise she found that the fire hadnot been lighted nor was Big Lena in the little room which had beenbuilt for her adjoining the kitchen. 

The quick eyes of the girl noted that the bed had not been disturbed, and with a sudden fear in her heart she dashed to the door of Chloe'sroom, where, receiving no answer to her frantic knocking, she pushedopen the door and entered. Chloe's bed had not been slept in, and her_parka_ was missing from its peg upon the wall. 

As the Indian girl turned from the room, Harriet Penny's door opened, and she caught a glimpse of a night-capped head as the little spinsterglanced timidly out to inquire into the unusual disturbance. 

"Where have they gone?" cried the girl. 

"Gone? Gone?" asked Miss Penny. "What do you mean? Who has gone?"

"She's gone--Miss Elliston--and Big Lena, too. They have not slept intheir beds. "

It took a half-minute for this bit of information to percolate MissPenny's understanding, and when it did she uttered a shrill scream, banged her door, turned the key, and shot the bolt upon the inside. 

Alone in the living-room, the last words Chloe had spoken to herflashed through the Indian girl's mind: "I can trust you to place thisin MacNair's hands. "

Without a second thought for Miss Penny, she rushed into her room, recovered the letter from its hiding-place beneath the pillow, thrustit into the bosom of her gown, and hastily prepared for the trail. 

In the kitchen she made up a light pack of provisions, and, with noother thought than to find MacNair, opened the door and stepped outinto the keen, frosty air. The girl knew only that Snare Lake laysomewhere up the river, but this gave her little concern, as no snowhad fallen since MacNair had departed with his Indians a week before, and she knew his trail would be plain. 

From her window Harriet Penny watched the departure of the girl, andbefore she was half-way across the clearing the little woman appearedin the doorway, commanding, begging, pleading in shrill falsetto, notto be left alone. Hearing the cries, the girl quickened her pace, andwithout so much as a backward glance passed swiftly down the steepslope to the river. 

Born to the snow-trail, the Louchoux girl made good time. During themonth she had spent at Chloe's school she had for the first time in herlife been sufficiently clothed and fed, and now with the young musclesof her body well nourished and in the pink of condition she fairly flewover the trail. 

Hour after hour she kept up the pace without halting. She passed themouth of the small tributary upon which she had first seen Chloe. Theplace conjured vivid memories of the white woman and all she had donefor her and meant to her--memories that served as a continual spur toher flying feet. It was well toward noon when, upon rounding a sharpbend, she came suddenly face to face with the Indians and the dog-teamsthat MacNair had despatched for provisions. 

She bounded among them like a flash, singled out Wee Johnnie Tamarack, and proceeded to deluge the old man with an avalanche of words. Whenfinally she paused for sheer lack of breath, the old Indian, who hadunderstood but the smallest fragment of what she had said, remainedobviously unimpressed. Whereupon the girl produced the letter, whichshe waved before his face, accompanying the act with another tirade ofwords of which the Indian understood less than he had of the previousoutburst. 

Wee Johnnie Tamarack took his orders only from MacNair. MacNair hadsaid, "Go to the school for provisions, " and to the school he must go. Nevertheless, the sight of the letter impressed him. For in theNorthland His Majesty's mail is held sacred and must be carried to itsdestination, though the heavens fall. 

To the mind of Wee Johnnie Tamarack a letter was "mail, " and the factthat its status might be altered by the absence of His Majesty's stampupon its corner was an affair beyond the old man's comprehension. 

Therefore he ordered the other Indians to continue their journey, and, motioning the girl to a place on the sled, headed his dogs northwardand sent them skimming over the back-trail. 

Wee Johnnie Tamarack was counted one of the best dog-mushers in theNorth, and as the girl had succeeded in implanting in the old man'smind an urgent need of haste, he exerted his talent to the utmost. Mile after mile, behind the flying feet of the tireless _malamutes_, the sled-runners slipped smoothly over the crust of the ice-hard snow. 

And at midnight of the second day they dashed across the smooth surfaceof the lake and brought up with a rush before the door of MacNair's owncabin, which luckily had been spared by the flames. 

It was a record drive, for a "two-man" load--that drive of Wee JohnnieTamarack's, having clipped twelve hours from a thirty-six-hour trail. 

MacNair's door flew open to their frantic pounding. The girl thrustthe letter into his hand, and with a supreme effort told what she knewof the disappearance of Chloe and Big Lena. Whereupon, she threwherself at full length upon the floor and immediately sank into aprofound sleep. 

MacNair fumbled upon the shelf for a candle and, lighting it, seatedhimself beside the table, and tore the envelope from the letter. Neverin his life had the man read words penned by the hand of a woman. Thefingers that held the letter trembled, and he wondered at the wildbeating of his heart. 

The story of the Louchoux girl had aroused in him a sudden fear. Hewondered vaguely that the disappearance of Chloe Elliston could havecaused the dull hurt in his breast. The pages in his hand were like noletter he had ever received. There was somethingpersonal--intimate--about them. His huge fingers gripped them lightly, and he turned them over and over in his hand, gazing almost in awe uponthe bold, angular writing. Then, very slowly, he began to read thewords. 

Unconsciously, he read them aloud, and as he read a strange lump arosein his throat so that his voice became husky and the words faltered. He read the letter through to the end. He leaped to his feet andstrode rapidly up and down the room, his fists clenched and his breathcoming in great gasps. 

Bob MacNair was fighting. Fighting against an irresistible impulse--animpulse as new and strange to him as though born of another world--animpulse to find Chloe Elliston, to take her in his arms, and to crushher close against his wildly pounding heart. 

Minutes passed as the man strode up and down the length of the littleroom, and then once more he seated himself at the table and read theletter through. 

"DEAR MR. MACNAIR:

"I cannot leave the North without this little word to you. I havelearned many things since I last saw you--things I should have learnedlong ago. You were right about the Indians, about Lapierre, about_me_. I know now that I have been a fool. Lapierre always removed hishat in my presence, therefore he was a gentleman! Oh, what a fool Iwas!

"I will not attempt to apologize. I have been too _nasty_, and_hateful_, and _mean_ for any apology. You said once that some day weshould be friends. I am reminding you of this because I want you tothink of me as a friend. Wherever I may be, I will think ofyou--always. Of the splendid courage of the man who, surrounded bytreachery and intrigue and the vicious attacks of the powers that prey, dares to stand upon his convictions and to fight alone for the good ofthe North--for the cause of those who will never be able to fight forthemselves. 

"It will not be necessary to tell you that I shall go straight to theheadquarters of the Mounted and withdraw my charge against you. I haveheard of your lawless raids into the far North; I think they are_splendid_! Keep the good work up! Shoot as straight as you can--asstraight as you shot that night on Snare Lake. I should love to standat your side and shoot, too. But that can never be. 

"Just a word more. Lena is going to marry LeFroy; and, knowing Lena asI do, I think his reformation is assured. I am leaving everything tothem. The contents of the storehouse will set them up as independenttraders. 

"And now farewell. I want you to have my most valued possession, theportrait of my grandfather, Tiger Elliston, the man I have alwaysadmired more than any other until----"

Until what? wondered MacNair. The word had been crossed out, and hefinished the letter still wondering. 

"When you look at the picture in its splintered frame, think sometimesof the 'fool moose-calf, ' who, having succeeded by the narrowest marginin eluding the fangs of 'the wolf' is returning, wiser, to itsmountains. 

"Yours very truly--and very, very repentantly, "CHLOE ELLISTON. "

Bob MacNair lost his fight. He arose once more, his great frametrembling in the grip of a new thrill. He stretched his great arms tothe southward in a silent sign of surrender. He sought not to dodgethe issue, strange and wonderful as it seemed to him. He loved thiswoman--loved her as he knew he could love no other--as he had neverdreamed it was in the heart of man to love. 

And then, with the force of a blow, came the realization that thiswoman--his woman--was at that very instant, in all probability, at themercy of a fiend who would stop at nothing to gain his own ends. 

He leaped to the door. 

"By God, I'll tear his heart out!" he roared as he wrenched at thelatch. And the next instant the shores of Snare Lake echoed to thewild weird sound of the wolf-cry--the call of MacNair to his clan!Other calls and other summons might be ignored upon provocation, butwhen the terrible wolf-cry shattered the silence of the forestMacNair's Indians rushed to his side. 

Only death itself could deter them from fore-gathering at the sound ofthe wolf-cry. Before the echoes of MacNair's voice had died away darkforms were speeding through the moonlight. From all directions theycame; from the cabins that yet remained standing, from the tentspitched close against the unburned walls of the stockade, from rudewickiups of skins and of brushwood. 

Old men and young men they answered the call, and each in his hand borea rifle. MacNair snapped a few quick orders. Men rushed to harnessthe dog-teams while others provisioned the sleds for the trail. 

With one arm MacNair swung the Louchoux girl from the floor, and, picking up his rifle, dashed out into the night. 

Wee Johnnie Tamarack, just in from a twenty-four-hour trail, stood atthe head of MacNair's own dogs--the seven great Athabasca River dogsthat had carried him into the North. With a cry to his Indians tofollow and to bring the Louchoux girl, MacNair threw himself belly-wiseonto his sled, gave voice to a weird cry as his dogs shot out acrossthe white snow-level of Snare Lake, and headed south-ward toward theYellow Knife. 

He laughed aloud as he glanced over the back-trail and noted that halfof his Indians were already following. He had chosen that last crywell. Never before had the Indians heard it from the white man's lips, and they thrilled at the sound to the marrow. The blood surged throughthe veins of the wild men as it had not surged in long decades. _Itwas the war-cry of the Yellow Knives_!

CHAPTER XXIV

THE BATTLE

Bob MacNair's sled seemed scarcely to touch the hard surface of thesnow. The great _malemutes_ ran low and true over the well-definedtrail. He had selected the dogs with an eye to speed and endurance atthe time he had headed northward with Corporal Ripley after his releasefrom the Fort Saskatchewan jail. 

The shouts of the following Indians died away. Familiar landmarksleaped past, and save for an occasional word of encouragement MacNairlet the dogs set their own pace. For, consumed as he was by anxietyfor what might lie at the end of the trail, he knew that the hominginstinct of the wolf-dogs would carry them more miles and in betterheart than the sting of his long gut-lash. 

At daylight the man halted for a half-hour, fed his dogs, and boiledtea, which he drank in great gulps, hot and black, from the rim of thepot. At noon one of the dogs showed signs of distress, and MacNair cuthim loose, leaving him to follow as best as he could. When darknessfell only three dogs remained in harness, and these showed plainly theeffects of the long trail-strain. While behind, somewhere upon thewide stretch of the Yellow Knife, the other four limped painfully inthe wake of their stronger team-mates. 

An hour passed, during which the pace slackened perceptibly, and thenwith only ten miles to go, two more dogs laid down. Pausing only tocut them free from the harness, MacNair continued the trail on foot. The hard-packed surface of the snow made the rackets unnecessary, andthe man struck into a long, swinging trot--the stride of an Indianrunner. 

Mile after mile slipped by as the huge muscles of him, tireless asbands of steel, flexed and sprung with the regularity of clockworks. The rising moon was just topping the eastern pines as he dashed up thesteep bank of the clearing. For a moment he halted as his glance sweptthe familiar outlines of the log buildings, standing black andclean-cut and sombre in the light of the rising moon. 

MacNair drew a deep breath, and the next moment the long wolf-cryboomed out over the silent snow. As if by magic, the clearing spranginto life. Lights shone from the barrack windows and from the windowsof the cabins beyond; doors banged. The white snow of the clearing wasdotted with swift-moving forms as men, women, and children answered theclan-call of MacNair, shouting to one another as they ran, in hoarse, deep gutturals. 

In an instant MacNair singled out Old Elk from among the crowding forms. 

"What's happened here?" he cried. "Where is the white _kloochman_?"

Old Elk had taken charge of the thirty Indians MacNair had despatchedfor provisions, and immediately upon learning from the lips of theIndian women of Chloe's disappearance he had left the loading of thesleds to the others while he worked out the signs in the snow. Thus atMacNair's question the old Indian motioned him to follow, and, startingat the door of the cottage, he traced Chloe's trail to the banskian, and there in a few words and much silent pantomime he explained withoutdoubt or hesitation exactly what had taken place from the moment ofChloe's departure from the cottage until she was carried, bound andgagged and placed upon Lapierre's waiting sled. 

As MacNair followed the old Indian's story his fists clenched, his eyeshardened to points, and the breath whistled through his nostrils inwhite plumes of frost-steam. 

Old Elk finished and, pointing eloquently in the direction of Lac duMort, asked eagerly:

"You follow de trail of Lapierre?"

MacNair nodded, and before he could reply the Indian stepped close tohis side and placed a withered hand upon his arm. 

"Me, I'm lak' y'u fadder, " he said; "y'u lak' my own son. Y'u followde trail of Lapierre. Y'u tak' de white _kloochman_ away fromLapierre, an' den, by gar, when y'u got her y'u ke'p her. Dat_kloochman_, him damn fine 'oman!"

Realizing his worst fears were verified, MacNair immediately set aboutpreparations for the attack on Lapierre's stronghold. All night hesuperintended the breaking out of supplies in the storehouse and theloading of sleds for the trail, and at the first streak of dawn thevanguard of Indians who had followed him from Snare Lake swarmed up thebank from the river. 

MacNair selected the freshest and strongest of these, and with thethirty who were already at the school, struck into the timber withsleds loaded light for a quick dash, leaving the heavier impedimenta tofollow in care of the women and those who were yet to arrive from SnareLake. 

The fact that MacNair had made use of the wolf-cry to call themtogether, his set face, and terse, quick commands told the Indians thatthis was no ordinary expedition, and the eyes of the men glowed withanticipation. The long-promised--the inevitable battle was at hand. The time had come for ridding the North of Lapierre. And the fightwould be a fight to the death. 

It took three days for MacNair's flying squadron to reach the fort atLac du Mort. By the many columns of smoke that arose from the surfaceof the little plateau, he knew that the men of Lapierre waited theattack in force. MacNair led his Indians across the lake and into theblack spruce swamp. A half-dozen scouts were sent out to surround theplateau, with orders to report immediately anything of importance. 

Old Elk was detailed to follow the trail of Lapierre's sled to the verywalls of the stockade. For well MacNair knew that the craftyquarter-breed was quite capable of side-stepping the obvious andcarrying the girl to some rendezvous unknown to any one but himself. The remaining Indians he set to work felling trees for a small stockadewhich would serve as a defence against a surprise attack. Saplingswere also felled for light ladders to be used in the scaling ofLapierre's walls. 

Evening saw the completion of a substantial five-foot barricade, andsoon after dark Old Elk appeared with the information that both Chloeand Big Lena, as well as Lapierre himself, were within the confines ofthe Bastile du Mort. The man also proudly displayed a bleeding scalpwhich he had ripped from the head of one of Lapierre's scouts who hadblundered upon the old man as he lay concealed behind a snow-coveredlog. The sight of the grewsome trophy with its long black hair andblood-dripping flesh excited the Indians to a fever pitch. The scalpwas placed upon a pole driven into the snow in the centre of the littlestockade. And for hours the Indians danced about it, rendering thenight hideous with the wild chants and wails of their weirdincantations. 

As the night advanced and the incantations increased in violence, MacNair arose from the robe he had spread beside his camp-fire, anddrawing away from the wild savagery of the scene, stole alone out intothe dense blackness of the swamp and detouring to the shore of thelake, seated himself upon an uprooted tree-butt. 

An hour passed as he sat thinking--staring into the dark. The moonrose and illumined with soft radiance the indomitable land of the raw. MacNair's gaze roved from the forbidding blackness of the farthershore-line, across the dead, cold snow-level of the ice-locked lake, tothe bold headlands that rose sheer upon his right and upon his left. The scene was one of unbending _hardness_--of nature's frowningdefiance of man. The soft touch of the moonlight jarred upon his mood. Death lurked in the shadows--and death, and worse than death, awaitedthe dawning of the day. It was a _hard_ land--the North--having naughtto do with beauty and the soft brilliance of moonlight. He glancedtoward the jutting rock-ribbed plateau that was Lapierre's stronghold. Out of the night--out of the intense blackness of the spruce-guardeddark came the wailing howl of the savage scalp-dance. 

"The real spirit of the North, " he murmured bitterly. He arose to hisfeet, and, with his eyes fixed upon the bold headland of the littleplateau, stretched his great arms toward the spot that concealed thewoman he loved--and then he turned and passed swiftly into theblackness of the forest. 

But despite the frenzy of the blood-lust, at no time were the Indiansout of MacNair's control, and when he ordered quiet, the incantationsceased at the word and they sought their blankets to dream eagerly ofthe morrow. 

Morning came, and long before sunrise a thin line of men, women, andheavily laden dog-sleds put out from the farther shore of the lake andheaded for the black spruce swamp. The clan of MacNair was gatheringto the call of the wolf. 

The newcomers were conducted to the log stockade where the women wereleft to store the provisions, while MacNair called a council of hisfighting men and laid out his plan of attack. He glanced with prideinto the eager faces of the men who would die for him. He countedeighty-seven men under arms, thirty of whom were armed with Lapierre'sMausers. 

The position of the quarter-breed's fort admitted only one plan ofattack--to rush the barricade that stretched across the neck of thelittle peninsula. MacNair longed for action. He chafed withimpatience to strike the blow that would crush forever the power ofLapierre, yet he found himself wholly at the mercy of Lapierre. Forsomewhere behind that barrier of logs was the woman he loved. Heshuddered at the thought. He knew Lapierre. Knew that the man's whiteblood and his education, instead of civilizing, had served to heightenand to refine the barbaric cruelty and savagery of his heart. He knewthat Lapierre would stop at nothing to gain an end. His heart chilledat the possibilities. He dreaded to act--yet he knew that he must act. 

He dismissed the idea of a siege. A quick, fierce assault--an attackthat should have no lull, nor armistice until his Indians had scaledthe stockade, was preferable to the heart-breaking delay of a siege. MacNair decided to launch his attack with so fierce an onslaught thatLapierre would have no time to think of the girl. But if worse came toworst, and he did think of her, what he would do he would be forced todo quickly. 

Grimly, MacNair led his warriors to the attack, and as the lean-facedhorde moved silently through the timbered aisles of the swamp, thesound of scattering shots was borne to their ears as the scoutsexchanged bullets with Lapierre's sentries. 

A cleared space, thirty yards in width, separated the forest from thebarricade, and with this clearing in sight, in the shelter of thesnow-laden spruces, MacNair called a halt, and in a brief address gavehis Indians their final instructions. In their own tongue he addressedthem, falling naturally into the oratorical swing of the council fire. 

"The time has come, my people, as I have told you it must sometimecome, for the final reckoning with Lapierre. Not because the man hassought my life, am I fighting him. I would not call upon you to riskyour lives to protect mine; not to avenge the burning of my storehouse, nor yet, because he dug my gold. I am fighting him because he hasstruck at your homes, and the homes of your wives and your children. You are my people, and your interests are my interests. 

"I have not preached to you, as do the good fathers at the Mission, ofa life in a world to come. Of that I know nothing. It is thislife--the daily life we are living now, with which I have to do. Ihave taught you to work with your hands, because he who works is betterclothed, and better fed, and better housed than he who does not work. I have commanded you not to drink the white man's fire-water, notbecause it is wrong to be drunken. A man's life is his own. He may dowith it as he pleases. But a man who is drunk is neither well norhappy. He will not work. He sees his women and his children sufferingand in want, and he does not care. He beats them and drives them intothe cold. He is no longer a man, but a brute, meaner and more to bedespised than the wolf--for a wolf feeds his young. Therefore, I havecommanded you to drink no fire-water. 

"I have not made you learn from books; for books are things of thewhite men. In books men have written many things; but in no book isanything written that will put warmer clothes upon your backs, or moremeat in your _caches_. The white _kloochman_ came among you withbooks. Her heart is good and she is a friend of the Indians, but allher life has she lived in the land of the white men. And from books, the white men learn to gather their meat and their clothing. Therefore, she thought that the Indians also should learn from books. 

"But the white _kloochman_ has learned now the needs of the North. Atfirst I feared she would not learn that it is the work of the handsthat counts. When I knew she had learned I sent you to her, for thereare many things she can teach you, and especially your women andchildren, of which I know nothing. 

"The white _kloochman_, your good friend, has fallen into the hands ofLapierre. We are men, and we must take her from Lapierre. And now thetime has come to fight! You are fighting men and the children offighting men! When this fight is over there will be peace in theNorthland! It will be the last fight for many of us--for many of usmust die! Lapierre's men are well armed. They will fight hard, forthey know it is their last stand. Kill them as long as they continueto fight, but _do not kill Lapierre_!"

His eyes flashed dangerously as he paused to glance into the faces ofhis fighters. 

"No man shall kill Lapierre!" he repeated. "He is _mine_! With my ownhands will I settle the score; and now listen well to the final word:

"Drag the ladders to the edge of the clearing, scatter along the wholefront in the shelter of the trees, and at the call of the hoot-owl youshall commence firing. Shoot whenever one of Lapierre's men showshimself. But remain well concealed, for the men of Lapierre will beentrenched behind the loop-holes. At the call of the loon you shallcease firing. "

MacNair rapidly tolled out twenty who were to man the ladders. 

"At the call of the wolf, rush to the stockade with the ladders, andthose who have guns shall follow. Then up the ladders and over thewalls! After that, fight, every man for himself, but mind you well, that you take Lapierre alive, for Lapierre is mine!"

The laddermen stationed themselves at the edge of the timber, and themen who carried guns scattered along the whole width of the clearing. Then from the depths of the forest suddenly boomed the cry of thehoot-owl. Heads appeared over the edge of Lapierre's stockade, andfrom the shelter of the black spruce swamp came the crash of rifles. The heads disappeared, and of Lapierre's men many tumbled backward intothe snow, while others crouched upon the firing ledge which Lapierrehad constructed near the top of his log stockade and answered thevolley, shooting at random into the timber. But only as a man's headappeared, or as his body showed between the spaces of the logs, weretheir shots returned. MacNair's Indians were biding their time. 

For an hour this ineffectual and abortive sniping kept up, and thenfrom the walls of the stockade appeared that for which MacNair had beenwaiting--a white flag fluttering from the end of a sapling. Raisinghis head, MacNair imitated the call of the loon, and the firing ceasedin the timber. Having no white rag, MacNair waved a spruce bough andstepped boldly out into the clearing. 

The head and shoulders of Lapierre appeared above the wall of thebarricade, and for several moments the two faced each other in silence. MacNair grim, determined, scowling--Lapierre defiant, crafty, with histhin lips twisted into a mocking smile. The quarter-breed was thefirst to speak. 

"So, " he drawled, "my good friend has come to visit his neighbour!Come right in, I assure you a hearty welcome, but you must come alone!Your retainers are too numerous and entirely too _bourgeois_ to eat ata gentleman's table. "

"But not to drink from his bottle, " retorted MacNair. "I am comingin--but not alone!"

Lapierre laughed derisively. "O-ho, you would come by force--by forceof arms, eh! Well, come along, but I warn you, you do so at yourperil. My men are all armed, and the walls are thick and high. Rather, I choose to think you will listen to reason. "

"Reason!" roared MacNair. "I will reason with you when we come tohands' grips!"

Lapierre shrugged. "As you please, " he answered: "I was only thinkingof your own welfare, and, perhaps, of the welfare of another, who willto a certainty fare badly in case your savages attack us. I myself amnot of brutal nature, but among my men are some who--" He paused andglanced significantly into MacNair's eyes. Again he shrugged--"We willnot dwell upon the possibilities, but here is the lady, let her speakfor herself. She has begged for the chance to say a word in her ownbehalf. I will only add that you will find me amenable to reason. Itis possible that our little differences may be settled in a mannersatisfactory to all, and without bloodshed. "

The man stepped aside upon the firing ledge, evidently in order to letsomeone pass up the ladder. The next instant the face of ChloeElliston appeared above the logs of the stockade. At the sight of thegirl MacNair felt the blood surge through his veins. He took a quickstep toward and at a glance noted the unwonted pallor of her cheeks, the flashing eyes, and the curve of the out-thrust chin. 

Then clear and firm her voice sounded in his ears. He strained forwardto catch the words, and at that moment he knew in his heart that thiswoman meant more to him than life itself--more than revenge--more eventhan the welfare of his Indians. 

"You received my letter?" asked the girl eagerly. "Can you forgive me?Do you understand?"

MacNair answered, controlling his voice with difficulty. "There isnothing to forgive. I have understood you all along. "

"You will promise to grant one request--for my sake?"

Without hesitation came the man's answer; "Anything you ask. "

"On your soul, will you promise, and will you keep that promiseregardless of consequences?"

"I promise, " answered the man, and his voice rang harsh. For revengeupon Lapierre with his own hands had been the dearest hope of his life. At the next words of the girl, an icy hand seemed clutching at hisheart. 

"Then fight!" she cried. "Fight! Fight! Fight! Shoot! And cut!And batter! And kill! Until you have ridded the North of this fiend!"

With a snarl, Lapierre leaped toward the girl with arm upraised. Therewas a chorus of hoarse cries from behind the walls. Before theuplifted arm could descend the figure of Lapierre disappeared withstartling suddenness. The next instant the gigantic form of Big Lenaappeared, head and shoulders above the walls of the stockade at thepoint where Lapierre had been. The huge shoulders stooped, the form ofChloe Elliston arose as on air, shot over the wall, and dropped into acrumpled heap upon the snow at its base. The face of Big Lena framedby flying strands of flaxen hair appeared for a moment above the wall, and then the sound of a shot rang sharp and clear. The facedisappeared, and from beyond the wall came the muffled thud of a heavybody striking the snow. 

A dark head appeared above the walls at the point near where the girlhad fallen, and an arm was thrust over the logs. MacNair caught theglint of a blue-black barrel. Like a flash he drew his automatic andfired. The revolver dropped from the top of the wall to the snow, andthe hand that held it gripped frantically at the logs and disappeared. 

MacNair threw back his head, and loud and clear on the frosty airblared the call of the wolf. The whole line of the forest spit flame. The crash and roar of a hundred guns was in the air as the men frombehind the barricade replied. Lithe forms carrying ladders dashedacross the open space. Many pitched forward before the wall and laydoubled grotesquely upon the white strip of snow, while eager handscarried the ladders on. 

Suddenly, above the crash of the guns sounded the war-cry of the YellowKnives. The whole clearing sprang alive with men, yelling like fiendsand firing as they ran. Dark forms swarmed up the ladders and over thewalls. MacNair grabbed the rungs of a ladder and drew himself up. Above him climbed the Indian who had carried the ladder. He had nogun, but the grey blade of a long knife flashed wickedly between histeeth. 

The Indian crashed backward, carrying MacNair with him into the snow. MacNair struggled to his feet. The Indian lay almost at the foot ofthe ladder, and, gurgling horribly, rose to his knees. MacNair glancedinto his face. The man's eyes were rolled backward until only thewhites showed. His lips moved, and he clung to the rungs of theladder. Blood splashed down his front and reddened the trampled snow, then he fell heavily backward, and MacNair saw that his whole throathad been shot away by the close fired charge of a shotgun. 

With a roar, MacNair scrambled up the ladder, automatic in hand. Onthe firing ledge's narrow rim a riverman snapped together the breech ofhis shotgun, and looked up--his face close to the face of MacNair. Andas he looked his jaw sagged in terror. MacNair jammed the barrel ofthe automatic into the open mouth and fired. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE GUN-BRAND

Chloe Elliston lay in the snow, partially stunned by her fall from thetop of the stockade. She was not unconscious--her hearing and visionwere unimpaired, but her numbed brain did not grasp the significance ofthe sights and sounds which her senses recorded. She wondered vaguelyhow it happened she was lying there in the snow when she distinctlyremembered that she was standing upon the narrow firing ledge urgingMacNair to fight. There was MacNair now! She could see himdistinctly. Even as she looked the man drew his pistol and fired. Something struck the snow almost within reach of her hand. It was arevolver. Chloe glanced upward, but saw only the log wall of thestockade which seemed to tower upward until it touched the sky. 

A blood-curdling cry rang out upon the air--a sound she had heard ofnights echoing among rock-rimmed ridges--the pack-cry of thewolf-breed. She shuddered at the nearness of the sound and turned, expecting to encounter the red throat and slavering jaws of thefang-bared leader of the pack, and instead she saw only MacNair. 

Then along the wall of the forest came thin grey puffs of smoke, andher ears rang with the crash of the rifle-volley. She heard the wickedspit and thud of the bullets as they ripped at the logs above her, andtiny slivers of bark made black spots upon the snow. A piece fell uponher face, she brushed it away with her hand. The sounds of the shotsincreased ten fold. Answering spurts of grey smoke jutted from thewalls above her. The loop-holes bristled with rifle-barrels!

In her nostrils was the rank smell of powder-smoke, and across theclearing, straight toward her, dashed many men with ladders. A manfell almost at her side, his ladder, tilting against the wall, slippedsidewise into the snow, crashing against one of the protrudingrifle-barrels as it fell. Two other men came, and uprighting theladder, climbed swiftly up the wall. Chloe saw that they wereMacNair's Indians. 

The scene changed with lightning rapidity. Men with rifles were in theclearing, now running and shooting, and falling down to remainmotionless in the snow. Above the uproar of the guns a new soundrolled and swelled. An eery, blood-curdling sound that chilled theheart and caused the roots of her hair to prickle along the base of herskull. It was the war-cry of the Yellow Knives as they fired, and ran, and clambered up the ladders, The sights and sounds were clean-cut, distinct, intenselythrilling--but impersonal, like the shifting scenes of a photo-play. She glanced about for MacNair. Her eyes travelled swiftly from face toswarthy face of the men who charged out of the timber. She directedher glance toward the wall, and there, not twenty feet away, she sawhim reach for the rungs of the ladder. And the next moment two formscrashed backward into the snow. For an instant the girl closed hereyes, and in that instant her brain awoke with a start. About her thesounds leaped into terrible significance. She realized that she wasoutside the walls of the stockade. That the sights and sounds abouther were intensely real. 

The forces of MacNair and Lapierre had locked horns in the finalstruggle, and her fate, and the fate of the whole North, hung in thebalance. All about her were the hideous sounds of battle. She wassurprised that she was unafraid; instead, the blood seemed coursingthrough her veins with the heat of flame. Her heart seemed burstingwith a wild, fierce joy. Something of which she had always been dimlyconscious--some latent thing which she had always held in check--seemedsuddenly to burst within her. A flood of fancies crowded her brain. The wicked crack of the rifles became the roar of cannon. Tall masts, to which clung shot-torn shrouds, reared high above a fog ofpowder-smoke, and beyond waved the tops of palm-trees. The spirit ofTiger Elliston had burst its bounds!

With a cry like the scream of a beast, the girl leaped to her feet. She tore the heavy mittens from her hands, and reached for the revolverwhich lay in the snow at her side. She leaped toward MacNair who hadregained his feet, red with the life-blood of the Indian who lay uponhis back in the snow, staring upward wide-eyed, unseeing, throatless. She called loudly, but her voice was lost in the mighty uproar, andMacNair sprang up the ladder. 

Like a flash Chloe followed, holding her heavy revolver as he had heldhis. She glanced upward; MacNair had disappeared over the edge of thestockade. The next instant she, too, had reached the top. She paused, looking downward. MacNair was scrambling to his feet. Ten feet away aman levelled a gun at him. He fired from his knee, and the man pitchedforward. Upon him, from behind, rushed two men swinging their rifleshigh. They had almost reached him when Chloe fired straight down. Thenearest man dropped his rifle and staggered against the wall. Theother paused and glanced upward. Chloe shot squarely into his face. The bullet ripped downward, splitting his jaw. The man rushedscreaming over the snow, tearing with both hands at the wound. 

MacNair was upon his feet now. Beyond him the fighting was hand tohand. With clubbed guns and axes, Lapierre's men were meeting theIndians who swarmed over the walls. Once more the wild wolf-cry rangin the girl's ears as MacNair leaped into the thick of the fight. Thegirl became conscious that someone was pounding at her feet. Sheglanced downward. Two Indians were upon the ladder waiting to get overthe wall. Without hesitation she tightened her grip upon her revolverand leaped into the stockade. She sprawled awkwardly in the snow. Shefelt her shoulder seized viciously. Someone was jerking her to herfeet. She looked up and encountered the gleaming eyes of Lapierre. 

Chloe tried to raise her revolver, but Lapierre kicked it from herhand. There was the sound of a heavy impact. Lapierre's hand wasjerked from her shoulder; he was hurled backward, cursing, into thesnow. One of the Indians who had followed Chloe up the ladder hadleaped squarely upon the quarter-breed's shoulders. Like a flashLapierre drew his automatic, but the Indian threw himself upon the gunand tore it from his grasp. Then he scrambled to his feet. Lapierre, too, was upon his feet in an instant. 

"Shoot, you fool! Kill him! Kill him!" cried Chloe. 

But the Indian continued to stare stupidly, and Lapierre dashed tosafety around the corner of his storehouse. 

"MacNair say no kill, " said the Indian gravely. 

"Not kill!" cried the girl. "He is crazy! What is he thinking of?"But the Indian was already out of ear-shot. Chloe glanced about herfor her revolver. An evil-faced half-breed, dragging his body from thehips, pulled himself toward it, hunching along with his bare handsdigging into the crust of the snow. The girl reached it a secondbefore him. The man cursed her shrilly and sank into the snow, cryingaloud like a child. 

Suddenly Chloe realized that the battle had surged beyond her. Shotsand hoarse cries arose from the scrub beyond the storehouse, while allabout her, in the trampled snow, wounded men cursed and prayed, anddead men froze in the slush of their own heart's blood. The girlfollowed into the scrub, and to her surprise came face to face with theLouchoux girl, who was carrying armfuls of dry brushwood, which shepiled against the corner of the storehouse. 

Chloe glanced into the black eyes that glowed like living coals. TheIndian girl added her armful to the pile and, drawing matches from herpocket, dropped to her knees in the snow. She pointed toward the logstorehouse. 

"Lapierre ran inside, " she said. 

With a wild laugh Chloe passed on. The scrub thinned toward the pointof the peninsula, where the rim-rocks rose sheer two hundred feet abovethe level of the lake. Chloe caught sight of MacNair's Indians leapingbefore her, and, beyond, the crowding knot of men who gave groundbefore the rush of the Yellow Knives. One by one the men dropped, writhing, into the snow. The others gave ground rapidly, shooting attheir advancing enemies, cursing, crowding--but always giving ground. 

At last they were upon the rim-rocks, huddled together like cattle. Chloe could see them outlined distinctly against the sky. They firedone last scattering volley, and then the ranks thinned suddenly; manywere leaping over the edge, while others, throwing down their rifles, advanced with arms raised high above their heads. Some Indians fired, and two of these pitched forward. Then MacNair bellowed a hoarseorder, and the firing ceased, and the Indians bound the prisoners withthongs of _babiche_. 

The girl found herself close to the edge of the high plateau. Sheleaned far over and peered downward. Upon the white snow of the rocks, close to the foot of the cliff, lay several dark forms. She drew backand turned to MacNair, but he had gone. A puff of smoke arose into theair above the tops of the scrub-trees, and Chloe knew that thestorehouse was burning. The smoke increased in volume and rolledheavily skyward upon the light breeze. She could hear the crackle offlames, and the smell of burning spruce was in the air. 

She pushed forward into the cordon of Indians which surrounded theburning building, glancing hurriedly from face to face, searching forMacNair. Upon the edge of the little clearing which surrounded thestorehouse she saw the Louchoux girl bending over a form that laystretched in the snow. Swiftly she made her way to the girl's side. She was bending over the inert form of Big Lena. The big woman openedher eyes, and with a cry Chloe dropped to her knees by her side. 

"Ay ain't hurt much, " Lena muttered weakly. "Vun faller shoot me on dehead, but de bullet yump off sidevays. Ju bet MacNair, he gif demhaal!"

At the mention of MacNair's name Chloe sprang to her feet and continuedalong the cordon. 

One end of the storehouse and half the roof was ablaze, while thick, heavy smoke curled from beneath the full length of the eaves andthrough the chinkings of the logs. Chloe had almost completed thecircle when suddenly she came to a halt, for there, pressed tightagainst the logs close beside the jamb of the closed door, stoodMacNair. All about her the Indians stood in tense expectancy. Theireyes gleamed bright, and the breath hissed between parted lips--short, quick breaths of excitement. The flames had not yet reached the frontof the storehouse, but tiny puffs of smoke found their way out abovethe door. As she looked the form of MacNair stiffened, and Chloegasped as she saw that the man was unarmed. 

Suddenly the door flew open, and Lapierre, clutching an automatic ineither hand, leaped swiftly into the open. The next instant his armswere pinioned to his sides. A loud cry went up from the watchingIndians, and from all quarters came the sound of rushing feet as thosewho had guarded the windows crowded about. 

Lapierre was no weakling. He strained and writhed to free himself fromthe encircling arms. But the arms were bands of steel, clampingtighter and tighter about him. Slowly MacNair worked his hand downwardto the other's wrist. There was a lightning-like jerk, and theautomatic new into the air and dropped harmless into the snow. Thesame instant MacNair's grasp tightened about the other wrist. Hereleased Lapierre's disarmed hand and, reaching swiftly, tore the othergun from the man's fingers. 

Lapierre swung at his face, but MacNair leaned suddenly backward andoutward, still grasping the wrist, Lapierre's body described a shorthalf-circle, and he brought up with a thud against a nearby pile ofstove-wood. Releasing his grip, MacNair crowded him close and closeragainst the wood-pile which rose waist high out of the snow. SlowlyLapierre bent backward, forced by the heavier body of MacNair. MacNairreleased his grip on the other's wrist, but his right hand still heldLapierre's gun. A huge forearm slid up the quarter-breed's chest andcame to rest under the chin, while the man beat frantically with histwo fists against MacNair's shoulders and ribs. 

He stared wildly into MacNair's eyes--eyes that glowed with a greenishhate-glare like the night-eyes of the wolf. Backward and yet backwardthe man bent until it seemed that his spine must snap. His clenchedfists ceased to beat futilely against the huge shoulders of hisopponent, and he clawed frantically at the snow that hung in aminiature cornice along the edge of the wood-pile. 

Chloe crowded close, shoving the Indians aside. There was a swiftmovement near her. The Louchoux girl forced past and leaped lightly tothe top of the wood-pile, where she knelt close, staring downward withhard, burning eyes into the up-turned face of Lapierre. 

The man could bend no farther now, his shoulders were imbedded in thesnow and the back of his head was buried to the ears. His chest heavedspasmodically as he gasped for air, and the thin breath whined throughhis teeth. His lips turned greyish-blue and swelled thick, like stripsof blistered rubber, and his eyes rolled upward until they looked likethe sightless eyes of the blind. The blue-grey lips writhedspasmodically. He tried to cry out, but the sound died in a horriblethroaty gurgle. 

Slowly, MacNair raised his gun--Lapierre's own gun that he hadwrenched, bare-handed from his grasp. Raised it until the muzzlereached the level of Lapierre's eyes. Chloe had stared wide-eyedthroughout the whole proceeding. Gazing in fascination at the slowdeliberateness of the terrible ordeal. 

As the muzzle of the gun came to rest between Lapierre's eyes the girlsprang to MacNair's side. "Don't! Oh, don't kill him!" Her voicerose almost to a shriek. "Don't kill him--for my sake!"

The muzzle of the gun lowered and without releasing an ounce ofpressure upon the grip-locked body of the man, MacNair slowly turnedhis eyes to meet the eyes of the girl. Never in her life had shelooked into eyes like that--eyes that gleamed and stabbed, and burnedwith a terrible pent-up emotion. The eyes of Tiger Elliston, intensified a hundredfold! And then MacNair's lips moved and his voicecame low but distinctly and with terrible hardness. 

"I am not going to kill him, " he said, "but, by God! He will wish Ihad! I hope he will live to be an old, old man. To the day of hisdeath he will carry my mark. Bone-deep he will carry the scar of thegun-brand! The cross of the curse of Cain!"

MacNair turned from the girl and again the gun crept slowly upward. The quarter-breed had heard the words. With a mighty effort he filledhis lungs and from between the blue-grey lips sang a wild, shrillscream of abysmal soul-terror. Chloe Elliston's heart went sick at thecry, which rang in her ears as the very epitome of mortal agony. Shefelt her knees grow weak and she glanced at the Louchoux girl, whoknelt close, still staring into the upturned face, the while her redlips smiled. 

Closer, and closer crowded the Indians. MacNair deliberately reversedthe gun, his huge fist still gripping the butt. The top of the barrelwas turned downward, and the sight bit deep into the skin at the rootsof the hair on Lapierre's temple. Deeper and deeper sank the sight. MacNair's fingers tightened their grip until the knuckles whitened anda huge shoulder hunched to throw its weight upon the arm. 

Slowly, very slowly, the sight moved across the upturned brow, tearingthe flesh, rolling up the skin before its dull, broad edge. Thequarter-breed's muscles strained and his legs twined spasmodicallyabout the legs of MacNair, while his fingers tore through the snow andclawed at the bark of the wood-pile. Deliberately, the gun-sightripped and tore across the forehead--grooving the bone. The wide scarshowed raw and red, and in spots the skull flashed white. The broadline lost itself in the hair upon the opposite temple. 

Again MacNair buried the sight, this time among the hair roots of themedian line. Once more the gun began its slow journey, travellingdownward, crossing the lateral scar with a ragged tear. Once more theflesh and skin ripped and rolled before the unfaltering sight andgathered upon the edges of the wound in ragged, tight-rolled knots andshreds that would later heal into snaggy, rough excrescences, grey, like the unclean dregs of a slag-pot. 

A thin trickle of blood followed slowly along the groove. Thegun-sight was almost between the man's eyes, when, with a scream, Chloesprang forward and clutched MacNair's arm in both her hands. 

"You brute!" she cried. "You inhuman brute! _I hate you_!"

MacNair answered never a word. With a sweep of his arm he flung herfrom him. She spun dizzily and fell in a heap on the snow. Once morethe gun-sight rested deep against the bone at the point of itsinterruption. Once more it began its inexorable advance, creeping downbetween the eyes and along the bridge of the nose. Cartilage splitwide, the upper lip was cleft, and the steel clicked sharply againstblood-dripping teeth. 

Then MacNair stood erect and gazed with approval upon his handiwork. His glance swept the lake, and suddenly his shoulders stiffened as hescrutinized several moving figures that approached across the levelsurface of the snow. Striding swiftly to the edge of the plateau, heshaded his eyes with his hand and gazed long and earnestly toward theapproaching figures. Then he returned to Lapierre. The man had stoodthe terrible ordeal without losing consciousness. Reaching down, MacNair seized him by the collar, and jerking him to his feet, halfdragged him to the rim of the plateau. 

"Look!" he cried savagely. "Yonder, comes LeFroy--and with him are themen of the Mounted. "

Lapierre stared dumbly. His thin hand twitched nervously, and hisfists clasped and unclasped as the palms grew wet with sweat. 

MacNair gripped his shoulder and twisted him about his tracks. Slowseconds passed as the two men stood facing each other there in thesnow, and then, slowly, MacNair raised his hand and pointed toward theforest--toward the depths of the black spruce swamp. 

"Go!" he roared. "Damn you! Go hunt your kind! I did not brand youto delight the eyes of prison guards. Go, mingle with free men, thatthey may see--and be warned!"

With one last glance toward the approaching figures, Pierre Lapierreglided swiftly to the foot of the stockade, mounted the firing ledge, and swung himself over the wall. 

Bob MacNair watched the form of the quarter-breed disappear from sightand then, tossing the gun into the snow, turned to Chloe Elliston. Straight toward the girl he advanced with long, swinging strides. There was no hesitancy, no indecision in the free swing of theshoulders, nor did his steps once falter, nor the eyes that bored deepinto hers waver for a single instant. And as the girl faced him asudden sense of helplessness overwhelmed her. 

On he came--this big man of the North; this man who trampled rough-shodthe conventions, even the laws of men. The man who could fight, andkill, and maim, in defence of his principles. Whose hand was heavyupon the evil-doer. A man whose finer sensibilities, despite theirrough environment, could rise to a complete mastery of him. Inherentlya fighting man. A man whose great starved heart had never known awoman's love. 

Instinctively, she drew back from him and closed her eyes. And thenshe knew that he was standing still before her--very close--for shecould hear distinctly the sound of his breathing. Without seeing sheknew that he was looking into her face with those piercing, boring, steel-grey eyes. She waited for what seemed ages for him to speak, buthe stood before her--silent. 

"He is rough and uncouth and brutal. He hurled you spinning into thesnow, " whispered an inner voice. 

"Yes, strong and brutal and good!" answered her heart. 

Chloe opened her eyes. MacNair stood before her in all his bigness. She gazed at him wide-eyed. He was fumbling his Stetson in his hand, and she noticed the long hair was pushed back from his broad brow. Theblood rushed into the girl's face. Her fists clenched tight, and shetook a swift step forward. 

"Bob MacNair! _Put on your hat_!"

A puzzled look crept into the man's eyes, his face flushed like theface of a schoolboy who had been caught in a foolish prank, and hereturned the hat awkwardly to his head. 

"I thought--that is--you wrote in the letter, here--" he paused as hisfingers groped at the pocket of his shirt. 

Chloe interrupted him. "If any man ever takes his Stetson off to meagain I'll--I'll _hate_ him!"

Bob MacNair stared down upon the belligerent figure before him. Henoticed the clenched fists, the defiant tilt of the shoulders, theunconscious out-thrust of the chin--and then his eyes met squarely theflashing eyes of the girl. 

For a long, long time he gazed into the depths of the upturned eyes, and then, either the significance of her words dawned suddenly uponhim, or he read in that long glance the wondrous message of her love. With a low, glad cry he sprang to her and gathered her into his great, strong arms and pressed her lithe, pliant body close against hispounding heart, while through his veins swept the wild, fierce joy of amighty passion. Bob MacNair had come into his own!

There was a lively commotion among the Indians, and MacNair raised hishead to meet the gaze of LeFroy and Constable Craig and two others ofthe men of the Mounted. 

"Where is Lapierre?" asked the constable. 

Chloe struggled in confusion to release herself from the encirclingarms, but the arms closed the tighter, and with a final sigh ofsurrender the girl ceased her puny struggles. 

Constable Craig's lips twitched in a suppressed smile. "Ripley wasright, " he muttered to himself as he awaited MacNair's reply. "Theyhave found each other at last. "

And then the answer came. MacNair stared straight into the officer'seyes, and his words rang with a terrible meaning. 

"Lapierre, " he said, "has gone away from here. If you see him againyou shall never forget him. " His eyes returned to the girl, close-heldagainst his heart. Her two arms stole upward until the slender handsclosed about his neck. Her lips moved, and he bent to catch the words. 

"I love you, " she faltered, and glancing shyly, almost timidly into hisface, encountered there the look she had come to know so well--thesuspicion of a smile upon the lips and just the shadow of a twinkleplaying in the deep-set eyes. She repeated, softly, the words thatrang through her brain: "I love you--_Brute MacNair_!"

THE END.