ped from the coyote--but you would not have escaped
from the other. That is all I can tell you. But you will be safe here.
Those who seek your life will soon believe that you are dead, and then
we will let you go back. Is that not a kind fate for one who deserves to
be cut into bits and fed to the ravens?"

"You will tell me nothing more, Jean?" the engineer asked.

"Nothing--except that while I would like to kill you I have sympathy for
you. That, perhaps, is because I once lived in the South. For six years
I was with the company in Montreal, where I went to school."

He rose to his feet, tying the flap of his caribou skin coat about his
throat. Then he unbolted and opened the door. Faintly there came to
them, as if from a great distance, the wailing grief of Woonga, the dog.

"You said there was death here," whispered Howland, leaning close to his
shoulder.

"There is one who has lived here since the last plague," replied
Croisset under his breath. "He lost his wife and children and it drove
him mad. That is why we came down so quietly. He lived in a little cabin
out there on the edge of the clearing, and when I went to it to-night
there was a sapling over the house with a flag at the end of it. When
the plague comes to us we hang out a red flag as a warning to others.
That is one of our laws. The flag is blown to tatters by the winds.
He is dead."

Howland shuddered.

"Of the smallpox?"

"Yes."

For a few moments they stood in silence. Then Croisset added, "You will
remain here, M'seur, until I return."

He went out, closing and barring the door from the other side, and
Howland seated himself again in the chair beside the table. Fifteen
minutes later the half-breed returned, bearing with him a good-sized
pack and a two-gallon jug.

"There is wood back of the stove, M'seur. Here is food and water for a
week, and furs for your bed. Now I will cut those thongs about
your wrists."

"Do you mean to say you're going to leave me here alone--in this
wretched prison?" cried Howland.

"_Mon Dieu_, is it not better than a grave, M'seur? I will be back at
the end of a week."

The door was partly open and for the last time there came to Howland's
ears the mourning howl of the old dog on the mountain top. Almost
threateningly he gripped Croisset's arm.

"Jean--if you don't come back--what will happen?"

He heard the half-breed chuckling.

"You will die, M'seur, pleasantly and taking your own time at it, whic