human punishment. But far, far worse was the loss of all that
which he had labored to achieve through his crimes. Nor was the sting
of defeat lessened by the knowledge that it had been accomplished by
the one man he had instinctively feared from his first meeting with him.

Now, as they waited while the Indian prepared a steaming supper of
rough but welcome food, the three men sat with the smoke of their pipes
doing battle with the mosquito hordes which cursed the country.

For long it remained a silent gathering. Such is the way of the long
trail. Silence is the rule after the first routine has settled down.
A week of close companionship, where Nature's silences are deep and
unbroken, and all exchange of thought becomes exhausted. Only the
exigences of labor can excuse verbal intercourse. Otherwise it would
be intolerable. These three had labored long upon the trail in their
different spheres. They accepted every condition.

The camp-fire threw its cheerful glow, and set the shadows dancing.
The moon had risen, a golden globe just hovering above the horizon.
Its yellow light searched out the three figures dimly, and the dancing
flames of the camp-fire supported its effort.

Kars' eyes were directed upon the tongues of flame licking about the
camp-kettle. But they held in their focus the round, undiminished
figure over whom he sat ward. Bill sat facing the captive in full view
of the slung arm in its rough splints. Murray seemed to have no
concern for those about him. His haunted eyes were on the rising moon
disc, and his thoughts were on all those terrible problems confronting
him.

He smoked from habit, but without appreciation. He could have no
appreciation now for bodily comfort when all mental peace was destroyed.

His pipe went out and Bill held matches towards him. Silently, almost
automatically, he relit it, using his sound arm with the skill of weeks
of practice.

He passed the matches back. He offered no thanks. Then, with a sudden
stirring of his unshapely body, he glanced swiftly in the direction of
Kars. A moment later he was gazing across at Bill and addressing him.

"We'll make the Fort before sun-up?" he said.

"Before daylight," came the prompt correction.

Kars had abandoned his pleasant train of silent thought. His keen eyes
were alight with the reflection of the fire. They were searching the
prisoner's face for the meaning of his inquiry.

"How long do we stop around?"