e realised was only too true, and the blood surged madly
through his veins. He must reach the camp first and warn the men of
their danger. And he would lead them against the slashers, for nothing
would give him greater satisfaction than to surprise and confound those
skulking rebels. His heart turned toward Jean, and he longed to go in
search of her. But now, as when standing near that line drawn in the
sand, duty came first. He felt that Jean was safe, but the lives of
the King's men were at stake, so there must be no hesitation on his
part. But what was he to do with the injured man? That he was in a
critical condition, he was well aware, but how bad he did not know. It
was getting dark now, and he could not delay much longer.

"When did the slashers leave here?" he asked.

"When?" Botreau repeated in a dazed manner. "I don't know when. But
it seems an age."

"Then, I must get ahead of them, and warn the mast-cutters."

But the stricken man gave a pitiful cry, and reaching out, caught Dane
feebly by the hand.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded. "I'm dyin', an' I'm afraid to die alone.
Oh, it's terrible here, an' I'm gettin' so weak. I wonder what makes
this room so dark. An' it's cold, too. Fix the fire, won't ye, an'
lay me near it."

Dane stooped and held the candle close to the man's face. He knew that
he was dying, bleeding to death, for the floor was wet with blood.
There was nothing that he could do, and of no use would it be to attend
to the fire. No earthly heat could now warm the body of the wretched
man before him. All he could do was to watch and wait while the life
slowly ebbed away.

For a few minutes silence reigned in the room, broken only by the dying
man's laboured breathing. At length he slightly lifted his head and
looked wildly around.

"Keep back!" he cried. "Don't touch me! I didn't steal the girl! I
didn't, I say!"

"Hush, hush," Dane soothed, kneeling by his side and taking his hand in
his. "I won't let anything touch you."

But nothing could comfort the unhappy man. He fought his imaginary
foe, and pleaded to be saved.

"It's the devil that did it, I tell ye," he wailed. "Look, there's the
marks of his fingers upon Seth. Don't let him get me, for God's sake,
don't!"

Never before had Dane been in such an awkward predicament. It was hard
to listen to the raving man when he could do nothing to help him. And
all the time it was getting later, and he should be