It's anyways ten days to the
break-up; an' I ain't worryin' a damn if I do happen to foul Fallon's
drive."

Jacques Lacombie had so arranged his trap-lines that on his longest
circle he should be absent only one night from the lodge where old
Wa-ha-ta-na-ta kept an ever-vigilant eye upon the comings and goings of
Jeanne.

Since his return after the great blizzard the half-breed had made
numerous trips to the camp of Moncrossen, carrying fresh venison, and
he did not like the shifting glances the boss bent toward him, nor the
leering smile with which he inquired after Jeanne.

As the freezing nights hardened the crust upon the surface of the
sodden snow, Jacques discarded his rackets and, spending his days in
the lodge, attended his traps at night by the light of a lantern.

Daylight found him one morning headed homeward on a course paralleling
the river and nearly opposite Moncrossen's camp. Steadily he plodded
onward, and a smile came to his lips as he formulated his plans for the
summer, which included the removal of Jeanne from her dangerous
proximity to Moncrossen.

He would change his hunting-ground, move his lodge up the river, and
next season he would supply the camp of M's'u' Bill, whose heart was
good, and who would see that no harm came to the girl.

He swung onto the marshy arm of a small lake, whose surface was
profusely dotted with conical muskrat houses which reared their brown
domes above the broken rice-straw and cattail stalks.

He had nearly reached the center when suddenly he halted, whirled half
around, and clutched frantically at the breast of his shirt. It was as
though some unseen hand had dealt him a sharp blow, and a dull,
scorching pain shot through his chest.

He drew away his hand, red and dripping, glanced wildly about,
staggered a few steps, and crashed headlong, with a rustling sound,
into the thick growth of dry cattail stalks.

On the bank of the marsh a thin puff of vapory smoke drifted across the
face of a blackened stump and dissolved in the crisp air, and the sharp
crack of a high-power rifle of small caliber raised scarcely an echo
against the wall of the opposite shore.

A man stepped from behind the stump, glanced sharply about him, and
grinned as he leisurely pumped another cartridge into the chamber.

He bit the corner from a thick plug of tobacco, and gazed out over the
marsh, which showed only the light yellow of the dry stalks and the
brown domes of the rat-hou