t had ever set
foot in Lac Bain. And McDougall, with his arm touching Elise's hair,
felt the wild and throbbing pulse of her body. This day--this
hour--this minute in which she stood still, inbreathing--had confirmed
her belief in Reese Beaudin. As she had dreamed, so had he risen. First
of all the men in the world he stood there now, just as he had been
first in the days when she had loved his dreams, his music, and his
pictures. To her he was the old god, more splendid,--for he had risen
above fear, and he was facing Dupont now with that strange quiet smile
on his lips. And then, all at once, her soul broke its fetters, and
over the women's heads she reached out her arms, and all there heard
her voice in its triumph, its joy, its fear.

"Reese! Reese--my sakeakun!"

Over the heads of all the forest people she called him beloved! Like
the fang of an adder the word stung Dupont's brain. And like fire
touched to powder, swiftly as lightning illumines the sky, the glory of
it blazed in Reese Beaudin's face. And all that were there heard him
clearly:

"I am Reese Beaudin. I am the Yellow-back. I have returned to meet a
man you all know--Jacques Dupont. He is a monkey-man--a whipper of
boys, a stealer of women, a cheat, a coward, a thing so foul the crows
will not touch him when he dies--"

There was a roar. It was not the roar of a man, but of a beast--and
Jacques Dupont was on the platform!

Quick as Dupont's movement had been it was no swifter than that of the
closely-hooded stranger. He was as tall as Dupont, and about him there
was an air of authority and command.

"Wait," he said, and placed a hand on Dupont's heaving chest. His smile
was cold as ice. Never had Dupont seen eyes so like the pale blue of
steel.

"M'sieu Dupont, you are about to avenge a great insult. It must be done
fairly. If you have weapons, throw them away. I will search this--this
Reese Beaudin, as he calls himself! And if there is to be a fight, let
it be a good one. Strip yourself to that great garment you have on,
friend Dupont. See, our friend--this Reese Beaudin--is already
stripping!"

He was unbuttoning the giant's heavy Hudson's Bay coat. He pulled it
off, and drew Dupont's knife from its sheath. Paquette, like a stunned
cat that had recovered its ninth life, was scrambling from the
platform. The Indian was already gone. And Reese Beaudin had tossed his
coat to Joe Delesse, and with it his cap. His heavy shirt was closely
button