n answer to his question confirmed the dread suspicion.

"So the council has decided," came the quiet statement, in reply
to the prisoner's startled question. "We can't kill you outright.
To do that would be more than flesh and blood--even Indian flesh
and blood--could stand in your case, Captain McTavish. You've been
our friend for three years. You have never harmed us. We've traded
with you peaceably. But we can't keep you, and we can't let you
return with our secret. All that's left is the Death Trail. It's
the only way out for us... It has been decided on."

"No--oh, no!" Donald cried imploringly, suddenly impassioned by
the stark horror of this thing that stared at him out of the
darkness. "No, I beg of you. Anything but that! Tell off a squad;
take me out, and shoot me... Or, better yet, let me fight for my
life, somehow!"

Seguis shook his head in denial. There was commiseration in his
steady glance, but there was no suggestion of yielding in his voice
as he answered.

"For our own sakes, we can't," he explained concisely. "Any of
those things would bring us to the gallows, and we can't afford
that."

"Why should you care?" Donald retorted vindictively, with futile
fierceness. "You're going to swing anyway, as soon as another man
can get on your trail." He spoke with all the viciousness he could
contrive, hoping by insults to arouse the fury of the half-breed,
and thus provoke the fight for he longed.

But the keen mind of Seguis detected instantly the ruse, and he
merely smiled by way of answer, a smile that was half-pitiful,
half-mocking.

"You might try suicide," he suggested, with an intent of kindness.
"That way would spare the feelings of us all."

It was Donald's turn to shake his head in refusal now. As yet, such
an action on his part appeared impossible to him. The love of life
was too strong to permit the conceivability of such a choice. He
was too much the fighter to confess defeat, and so lay down his
life voluntarily. The McTavishes were not in the habit of giving
up any struggle before it was fairly begun... But the antagonism
aroused in him by the suggestion steadied his nerves, restored him
to some measure at least of his usual self-control.

"When do I go?" he asked. Face to face with the inevitable, a
desolate calm fell upon him.

"To-morrow morning," Seguis replied, stolidly. Then, abruptly,
the half-breed's manner softened, and he spoke in a different tone.
"We're all disappoint