ce.

He realized only too well the fascination such a woman must exercise
over a boy of Marcel's years. He would be clay in her hands. Chivalrous,
honourable, unsuspicious, what an easy prey he must prove! It was too
pitifully easy once the woman discovered him. But even with this
realization he was by no means dismayed. He remembered poignantly that
An-ina had assured him that Marcel would bring the woman to the fort.
Well, if that happened Lorson Harris was by no means likely to have
things all his own way. He, Steve, had learned his lesson of women, and
was not likely to----

Steve was in the act of bearing down upon the lever of the baling
machine. He paused, with the lever pressed only half way home. He stood
listening, his bent figure unmoving. There was a sound beyond the door.
It might have been the sound of a snowfall from the roof above him. It
might have found its source in many things. Yet it was unusual enough to
hold the man listening acutely.

Presently, as there was no repetition of it, he dismissed the matter. He
was always fearful of possible approach. A moment's thoughtlessness on
the part of An-ina, on the part of his Indians, and the mischief would
be done. Even there was always the risk of Marcel's return, and the
attraction of the light of the lamp through the window. He dared not for
his own sake bar the door. There was always the risk of his mask failing
him.

He completed his operation. The oozing weed was compressed, and the
binding cords made fast. Then the lever was raised, and the sticky mass
was passed on to the outspread sheet for its final packing.

For all the cloth was spread, however, and the bundle was set in place
Steve hesitated before enfolding it. The disturbing sound still haunted
him curiously. He could never resist the dread of the deadly atmosphere
of the room. It needed only one breath--moments one might count upon the
fingers of a hand. The thought occurred to him to risk all and bar the
door. But it remained only a thought. He forced himself to continue his
work like a man who recognizes the weakness prompting him.

He folded the cloth about the bale and reached for the solution brush.
But the brush remained where it was. Distinct on the still night air
came the sound of a footstep. It was too heavy for An-ina. It had
nothing of Indian moccasins in it. It was the heavy footstep of a man, a
white man. Marcel!

Steve swung about in an agony of apprehension. But for o