not to withdraw the charge of murder."

"I offered to furnish him with an escort of Indians, but he refused
them. I don't see how in the world he can expect to take MacNair to
jail. He's a mere boy."

Lapierre laughed. "He'll take him to jail all right, you may rest
assured as to that. He will not dare to allow him to escape, nor will
MacNair try to escape. We have nothing to fear now until the trial.
It is extremely doubtful if we can make the murder charge stick, but it
will serve to hold him during the winter, and I have no doubt when his
case comes up in the spring we will be able to produce evidence that
will insure conviction on the whiskey charges, which will mean at least
a year or two in jail and the exaction of a heavy fine.

"In the meantime you will have succeeded in educating the Indians to a
realization of the fact that they owe allegiance to no man. MacNair's
power is broken. He will be discredited by the authorities, and hated
by his own Indians--a veritable pariah of the wilderness. And now,
Miss Elliston, I must hasten at once to the rivers. My interests there
have long been neglected. I shall return as soon as possible, but my
absence will necessarily be prolonged, for beside my own trading
affairs and the getting out of the timber for new scows, I hope to
procure such additional evidence as will insure the conviction of
MacNair. LeFroy will remain with you here."

"Did you catch the whiskey runners?" Chloe asked.

Lapierre shook his head. "No," he answered, "they succeeded in eluding
us among the islands at the eastern end of the lake. We were about to
push our search to a conclusion when news reached us of MacNair's
arrest, and we returned with all speed to the Yellow Knife."

Somehow, the man's words sounded unconvincing--the glib reply was too
ready--too like the studied answer to an anticipated question. She
regarded him searchingly, but the simple directness of his gaze caused
her own eyes to falter, and she turned into the house with a deep
breath that was very like a sigh.

The sense of elation and self-confidence inspired by Lapierre's first
words ebbed as it had ebbed before the unspoken rebuke of Big Lena,
leaving her strangely depressed. With the joy of accomplishment dead
within her, she drove herself to her work without enthusiasm. In all
the world, nothing seemed worth while. She was unsure--unsure of
Lapierre; unsure of herself; unsure of Big Lena--and, worst of