e have agreed it's the only fair thing to do. You take
my revolver, and bang us both over the head with it, and make your
get-away. We'll frame up a good story of a desperate struggle,
and all that, to tell 'em when we come to. Then, nobody'll suffer,
and we won't all have murder on our souls. But give us time to fix
the story up beforehand," he concluded, whimsically. "You see, we
mightn't be able to think alike afterward."

Donald actually laughed.

"It's no go, boys," he said gratefully; "but I'll always remember
your--" He halted blankly, and Buxton cleared his throat viciously,
and spat into the fire. The fact that "always" consisted for him
of perhaps four hours, at most, occurred to the man about to die
with something of surprise for a moment. Then, he went on writing.

He had just sealed a letter, and given it to Timmins, when he
thought he detected a noise outside the cabin. Whether it was a
step or a gruff whisper, he could not say. He listened curiously.
Who should be about at this hour? Surely, it was too early for
the--

"I wonder, do they keep their grub in this shack?" came the whisper
of a man, speaking to a companion.

Where Donald lay, with his ear almost against the logs, the voices
were distinct through the chinks, but did not reach the two guards
at the door. He remained silent. There was a sound of breathing,
and then stealthy steps, as the men pursued their investigations
along the walls. What should he do? Who were they? If he spoke, he
might precipitate some calamity of which he had no inkling. Thinking
hard, he could reason out no situation in the camp that would call
for men to be slinking about looking for food. Besides, every one
knew that the little cabin was not a storehouse.

Knowing their man and sure of their own ability to cope with any
situation that might arise, Timmins and Buxton had not been
over-careful in making the door of the cabin fast. At best, the
bar was only a piece of wood that turned on a peg, and its main
use was to keep the door tightly closed on account of the cold
draft that entered every crack. McTavish had been under guard since
the morning of his arrest, and the watchers were grown careless.
Now, the piece of wood was not turned full across the edge of the
entrance--in fact, it just managed to keep it shut. A good stiff
pull would--

There was a jerk at the outside handle, a cracking and scraping of
wood, an icy blast set the little fire roaring. An inst