e tenth day came and he set out for the mouth of the Canoe River. On
the afternoon of the twelfth he paddled slowly into Limping Moose
Creek. Without any reason he looked at his watch when he started for
old Robert's cabin. It was four o'clock. He was two days ahead of his
promise, and there was a bit of satisfaction in that. There was an odd
thumping at his heart. He had faith in Cassidy, a belief that the
Irishman would call their affair a draw, and tell him to take another
chance in the big open. He was the sort of man to live up to the letter
of a wager, when it was honestly made. But, if he didn't--

Jolly Roger paused long enough to take the cartridges from his gun.
There would be no more shooting'--on his part.

The mellow autumn sun was flooding the open door of the cabin when he
came up. He heard laughter. It was Giselle. She was talking, too. And
then he heard a man's voice--and from far off to his right came the
chopping of an axe. Old Robert was at work. Giselle and Cassidy were at
home.

He stepped up to the door, coughing to give notice of his approach. And
then, suddenly, he stopped, staring thunderstruck at what was happening
within.

Terence Cassidy was sitting in a big chair. The girl was behind him.
Her white arms were around his neck, her face was bent down, her lips
were kissing him.

In an instant Cassidy's eyes had caught him.

"Come in," he cried, so suddenly and so loudly that it startled the
girl. "McKay, come in!"

Jolly Roger entered, and the girl stood up straight behind Cassidy's
chair, her cheeks aflame and her eyes filled with the glow of the
sunset. And Terence Cassidy was grinning in that old triumphant way as
he leaned forward in his chair, gripping the arms of it with both hands.

"McKay, you've lost," he cried. "I'm the winner!"

In the same moment he took the girl's hand and drew her from behind his
chair.

"Giselle, do as you said you were going to do. Prove to him that I've
won."

Slowly she came to Jolly Roger. Her cheeks were like the red of the
sunset. Her eyes were flaming. Her lips were parted. And dumbly he
waited, and wondered, until she stood close to him. Then, swiftly, her
arms were around his neck, and she kissed him. In an instant she was
back on her knees at the wounded man's side, her burning face hidden
against him, and Cassidy was laughing, and holding out both hands to
McKay.

"McKay, Roger McKay, I want you to meet Mrs. Terence Cassidy, my wife,"