he second time that night. In anticipation of any desperate
emergency, the captive sprang to his feet, and retreated to a corner
of the room farthest from the door, watching with wary eyes for
his visitor's appearance.

"Who is it?" he demanded, as the door was flung open.

"It's me, Charley Seguis," was the reply, in the voice of the
half-breed. Even in this moment of stress, Donald noticed
half-wonderingly the mellow cadences in the voice of this man of
mixed blood. While speaking, Seguis had entered the room, and he
now shut the door behind him. "I come friendly," he continued, with
a suggestion of softness in his tones, though there was no lack of
firmness. "I wish to talk friendly for half an hour. Will you sit
with me by the fire?"

"I don't trust you, Seguis," retorted Donald, bluntly. "If you have
been delegated by lot to kill me, do it at once. That would be the
only possible kindliness from you to me. I can stand anything better
than waiting... I am unarmed--as you know."

The half-breed shook his head slowly, as though in mourning that
his intentions should be thus questioned.

"I don't come to harm you," he said at last, with a certain dignity.
"I've given you my word that I come friendly. I am armed, but that
is to prevent your attacking me."

Donald uttered an ejaculation of impatience.

"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "Why should I attack you?" For the instant,
in realization of his own plight, he had forgotten that the original
purpose of his quest had been the capture of this man who was now
become his captor... But the half-breed's words recalled the fact
forcibly enough.

"Don't you suppose, captain, that I've known you were on my trail
for days? I have the sense to know that. But what brought you
veering off the trail to Sturgeon Lake is beyond me."

Donald heaved a sigh of relief. At least, Jean's message was unknown
to the leader of the free-traders, and there would be no risk of
the girl's suffering in person for her loyal zeal. In this relief,
his thoughts reverted curiously to the crime he had been sent to
revenge.

"Did you kill Cree Johnny?" he demanded, abruptly.

The face of the half-breed remained immobile, inscrutable.

"I'll tell you nothing about that," was the crisp reply. "Let's
talk of what is more important now, and that is yourself--and what's
to become of you."

"As you will," Donald agreed, grudgingly. It wounded his self-esteem
that this man should be able thus to manag