in cold blood. And perhaps
some of her love for him yet lingered.

He did not try to guess the mission on which Bill had gone. If his
thought had been more clear and his fury less, he would have paused and
wondered about it; perhaps he would have been somewhat suspicious. Bill
was blind; except to procure fuel there was no conceivable reason for an
excursion into the snow. But Harold only shivered with hatred and rage,
drunk with the realization that his chance had come.

He would go quickly to the cabin, procure his snowshoes, and be ready to
meet Bill with loaded rifle when he returned. There was no chance for
failure. He plunged and fought his way, floundering in the deep snow,
toward Bill's cabin.

He found to his great delight that the door was open,--nothing to do
but walk through. At first he was a little amazed at the sight of
Virginia lying so still against the opposite wall; it occurred to him
for the first time that perhaps she had been wounded in the fight. If
so, it made his work all the safer. Yet she opened her eyes and gazed
at him as he neared the threshold. He could see her but dimly; mostly
the cabin was still dusky with shadows.

"I'm coming for my snowshoes, Virginia," he told her. "Then I'm going
to go away." He tried to draw his battered, bloody lips into a smile.

"Come in and get them," she replied. Her voice was low and lifeless.
Harold stepped through the door. And then she uttered a curious cry.

"Now!" she called sharply. There was no time for Harold to dart back,
even to be alarmed. A mighty force descended upon his body.

Even in that first instant Harold knew only too well what had occurred.
Instead of lying in wait himself he had been lured into ambush. Bill
had re-entered the window and had stood waiting in the shadow, just
beside the open door. Virginia had given him the signal when to leap
down.

He leaped with crushing force,--as the grizzly leaps, or the cougar
pounces from a tree. There was nothing of human limitations about that
attack. Harold tried to struggle, but his attempt was futile as that of
a sparrow in the jaws of the little ermine. Only too well he knew the
strength of these pitiless arms that clasped him now. He had learned it
the night before, and his lust for vengeance gave way to ghastly and
blood-curdling terror. What would these two avengers do to him; what
justice would they wreak on him, now that they had him in their power?
The r