hem on. Duc was
laughing: he reached over for an epaulette, tossed it up, caught it and
threw it down with a guffaw. Then the door opened, and Athabasca walked
in, seized the epaulettes, and went swiftly out again. Just outside
the door Mallory clapped a hand on one shoulder, and Duc caught at the
epaulettes.

Athabasca struggled wildly. All at once there was a cold white flash,
and Duc came huddling to Mallory's feet. For a brief instant Mallory
and the Indian fell apart, then Athabasca with a contemptuous fairness
tossed his knife away, and ran in on his man. They closed; strained,
swayed, became a tangled wrenching mass; and then Mallory was lifted
high into the air, and came down with a broken back.

Athabasca picked up the epaulettes, and hurried away, breathing hard,
and hugging them to his bare red-stained breast. He had nearly reached
the gate when he heard a cry. He did not turn, but a heavy stone caught
him high in the shoulders, and he fell on his face and lay clutching the
epaulettes in his outstretched hands.

Fyles' own hands were yet lifted with the effort of throwing, when he
heard the soft rush of footsteps, and someone came swiftly into his
embrace. A pair of arms ran round his shoulders--lips closed with
his--something ice-cold and hard touched his neck--he saw a bright flash
at his throat.

In the morning Konto found Mitawawa sitting with wild eyes by her
father's body. She had fastened the epaulettes on its shoulders. Fyles
and his men made a grim triangle of death at the door of the Fort.

THE HOUSE WITH THE BROKEN SHUTTER

"He stands in the porch of the world--
(Why should the door be shut?)
The grey wolf waits at his heel,
(Why is the window barred?)
Wild is the trail from the Kimash Hills,
The blight has fallen on bush and tree,
The choking earth has swallowed the streams,
Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol:
(Why should the door be shut?)
The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide--
(Why is the window barred?)"

Pierre stopped to listen. The voice singing was clear and soft, yet
strong--a mezzo-soprano without any culture save that of practice and
native taste. It had a singular charm--a sweet, fantastic sincerity.
He stood still and fastened his eyes on the house, a few rods away. It
stood on a knoll perching above Fort Ste. Anne. Years had passed since
Pierre had visited the Fort, and he was no