to the
wall, on which had been written the score of old John's last gamble.

"Write!" he said, turning back to his prisoner.

Lablache gazed fearfully around. He essayed to speak, but his tongue
clove to the roof of his mouth.

"Write--while I tell you." The Breed still pointed to the wall.

Lablache held out the chalk.

"I kill John Allandale," dictated Baptiste.

Lablache wrote.

"Now, sign. So."

Lablache signed. Jacky and Bill stood looking on silent and wondering.

"Now," said Baptiste, with all the solemnity of a court official, "the
execution shall take place. Lead him out!"

At this instant Jacky laid her hand upon the half-breed's arm.

"What--what is it?" she asked. And from her expression something of the
stony calmness had gone, leaving in its place a look of wondering not
untouched with horror.

"The Devil's Keg!"

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG

Down the sloping shore to the level of the great keg, the party of
Breeds--and in their midst the doomed money-lender--made their way.
Jacky and "Lord" Bill, on their horses, brought up the rear.

The silent _cortege_ moved slowly on, out on to the oozing path across
the mire. Lablache was now beyond human aid.

The right and wrong of their determination troubled the Breeds not one
whit. But it was different with the two white people. What thoughts Bill
had upon the matter he kept to himself. He certainly felt that he ought
to interfere, but he knew how worse than useless his interference would
be. Besides, the man should die. The law of Judge Lynch was the only law
for such as he. Let that law take its course. Bill would have preferred
the stout tree and a raw-hide lariat. But--and he shrugged his
shoulders.

Jacky felt more deeply upon the subject. She saw the horror in all its
truest lights, and yet she had flouted her lover's suggestion that she
should not witness the end. Bad and all as Lablache was--cruel as was
his nature, murderer though he be, surely no crime, however heinous,
could deserve the fate to which he was going. She had
remonstrated--urged Baptiste to forego his wanton cruelty, to deal out
justice tempered with a mercy which should hurl the money-lender to
oblivion without suffering--with scarce time to realize the happening.
Her efforts were unavailing. As well try to turn an ape from its
mischief--a man-eater from its mania for human blood. The inherent love
of cruelty had been too long fostered in these Bre