ot Miss Fitzpatrick's handwriting."

"I must ask you to believe she wrote that message," rejoined Seguis,
coldly.

"Well, I don't believe it, and I won't," was Donald's equally cool
retort. "It's a hoax, pure and simple."

"The writing may be a hoax, but the sense is not."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Donald, sharply.

"I mean that what Is contained in that letter goes as it stands.
I will give you a safe-conduct out of the country, if you'll accept
it. If you won't, I shall restore you to the Hudson Bay officials,
with an apology for having interfered with justice." Seguis's tone
was level and determined.

McTavish lost color.

"You can't mean that, Seguis," he said, earnestly.

"I do mean it," was the inflexible reply.

Donald reflected for a moment. The situation was getting out of
his hands. He must dominate matters at all costs. The plans that
he had set in motion must not stop until they had gone on to their
inevitable, crushing conclusion. It was evident that the half-breed
was equally determined. The battle now lay between them.

"I refuse to go," he said, resolutely.

"Is that final?" asked Seguis.

"Absolutely!"

"Well, then, to-morrow, you start up the lake to the other camp."
Seguis rose from his seat, indifferently. "I guess we've nothing
left to discuss," he added, and began to walk back toward the camp.

"Seguis, wait!" Donald's face was ghastly with the resolve that
had come to him, but he spoke with an even, commanding voice, which
arrested the other. "You must not do that. It would be murder."

"How so? You have your opportunity to avoid it."

"Would you murder your own flesh and blood? Tell me, Seguis, would
you do that?" The voice was still even, but the eyes that searched
those of the half-breed were bright with an intense fire.

"What do you mean by 'my own flesh and blood?' Are you going crazy,
McTavish?" demanded the half-breed, feeling, he knew not why, a
mysterious fear move within him.

"Crazy! No, indeed, my good Seguis--only too far from it, I sometimes
think!" was the spoken reply. But over and over to himself, McTavish
was saying: "He doesn't know it! He doesn't know it!"

"Well, what do you mean then?"

"Just what I say; that, if you send me back to the other camp,
you'll be murdering your own flesh and blood. Good God! man, don't
you know who your father was?

"No--she never told me." Seguis, in a dazed manner, indicated the
camp where Maria still prowle