all the time he was a prey to unpleasant foreboding; that
unaccountable foreboding so truly prophetic, which refuses to be
shaken off. He knew that disaster was in the air as surely as if it
had all happened, and there was nothing left for him but to gaze
impotently upon the ruin. He had a certain amount of reason for his
fears, of course, but that reason was largely speculative, and, had he
been asked to state definitely what he anticipated, on whom disaster
was to fall, he could not have answered with any real conviction.
Something prompted him that Jake was to be the central figure, the
prime mover. But beyond that his ideas were vague. The man's very
summons at the door was a positive aggravation, and suggested
possibilities.

An answer came with the abrupt opening of the stable door, which
revealed the lithe figure of the dusky half-breed, framed in a
setting of dingy yellow light from the lantern within. He could see
the insolent, upward stare of the man's eyes as he looked up into the
great man's face; nor at that moment could he help thinking of all he
had heard of "Tough" McCulloch. And the recollection brought him a
further feeling of uneasiness for the man who had thus come to beard
him in his own den.

But even while these thoughts passed swiftly through his brain the
bullying, hectoring tones of Jake's voice came to him. They were
unnecessarily loud, and there was a thickness in them which
corroborated the evidence of his uneven gait. Jake had certainly been
priming himself with spirit.

"Where was you last night, Anton?" he heard him ask.

"An' wher' should I be, Mr. Jake?" came the half-breed's sullen
retort.

"That ain't no answer," the other cried, in a vicious tone.

The half-breed shrugged with apparent indifference, only there was no
indifference in the resentful flash of his eyes.

"I not answer to you," he said, in his broken way, throwing as much
insolence as he could into his words.

Jake's fury needed no urging; the spirit had wound him up to the
proper pitch.

"You black son-of-a----," he cried, "you shall answer to me. For two
pins I'd wring your blasted neck, only I'm savin' that fer the rope.
I'll tell you wher' you was last night. You wer' out. Out with the
horses. D'you hear? And you weren't at the Breed camp neither. I know
wher' you was."

"Guess you shoot your mouth off," Anton said, with dangerous calmness.
"Bah! I tell you I stay right hyar. I not out. You mad! Voila!"