with a sneer.
"You make plenty of moves, but you accomplish nothing. That's a
squaw every time."

The little eyes blazed upon him red, and her withered face shook
with fury.

"Accomplish nothing, eh, young McTavish? We shall see. Ha! You'll
wish you'd never been born--you and your father and mother,
and all!"

"More talk!" he gibed. "I want proofs. If you can show me proofs
of what you claim, I'll do all I can to help your son to his rightful
place."

"My son!" she taunted, in turn. "Your brother? Your brother, young
McTavish! Call him brother, next time you see him." Her shrieking
mirth mingled fittingly with the anguish of the wind among the
trees. But suddenly, she stopped short, and looked at him with
questioning eyes.

"You'll help him, you say, if I can give the proof that I was
McTavish's wife?"

"Yes."

Donald lied heartily: the occasion demanded it. Long since, he
had decided for himself that truth was not a garment to be worn on
all occasions. To those he loved, he would tell the truth if it
killed him, but others must depend upon the circumstances of the
case. Now, he knew that, if he could get documentary proof within
arm's reach, he would destroy it, though it earned him a knife
between the ribs. He watched her like a hawk, although apparently
totally indifferent to the conversation.

"You promise you'll help him--my son?

"Yes."

Donald's vision suddenly became riveted upon the clawlike right
hand of the hag. An involuntary muscle, following the half-ordained
bidding of the brain, had moved perhaps three inches toward her
breast. There, it stopped, and slipped down again.

"Look in my eyes," the witch commanded, bending down and putting
her face close.

He removed his pipe, and turned to meet her gaze. Then, he realized
that never in his life had he looked into human eyes that in cruelty,
keenness, and suspicion equaled these. That glare went through the
retina, into the brain, and down, down to the hidden and
undiscoverable recess of the soul, plumbing, searching, proving.
He began to feel as though he were looking at a dazzling light...
Suddenly, the light was turned off, and he heard a snarl.

"Liar! I can see the treachery in your heart! Fool, to try to
deceive me! I might have put trust in your words once; but now I
know!" In her fury, she seemed saner than he had ever known her
hitherto, and it was then, for the first time, that he got an idea
of Maria's abnormal powers of analy