all kinds
of books, and reading, and music. But the time came when we thought we
must send Marette to Montreal. It broke her heart. And then--a long
time after--"

McTrigger paused a moment, looking into Kent's eyes. "And then--one day
Donald came in from Dawson City, terrible in his madness, and told us
that he had found his men. One of them was John Barkley, the rich
timber man, and the other was Kedsty, Inspector of Police at Athabasca
Landing."

Kent made no effort to speak. His amazement, as McTrigger had gone on,
was beyond the expression of words. The night held for him a cumulative
shock--the discovery that Marette was not dead, but alive, and now the
discovery that he, Jim Kent, was no longer a hunted man, and that it
was O'Connor, his old comrade, who had run the truth down. With dry
lips he simply nodded, urging McTrigger to continue.

"I knew what would happen if Donald went after Barkley and Kedsty,"
said the older man. "And it was impossible to hold him back. He was
mad, clean mad. There was just one thing for me to do. I left here
first, with the intention of warning the two brutes who had killed
Donald's wife. I knew, with the evidence in our hands, they could do
nothing but make a getaway. No matter how rich or powerful they were,
our evidence was complete, and through many years we had kept track of
the movements of our witnesses. I tried to explain to Donald that we
could send them to prison, but there was but one thought in his poor
sick mind--to kill. I was younger and beat him south. And after that I
made my fatal mistake. I thought I was far enough ahead of him to get
down to the line of rail and back before he arrived. You see, I figured
his love for Marette would take him to Montreal first, and I had made
up my mind to tell her everything so that she might understand the
necessity of holding him if he went to her. I wrote everything to her
and told her to remain in Montreal. How she did that, you know. She set
out for the North as soon as she received my letter."

McTrigger's shoulders hunched lower. "Well, you know what happened,
Kent. Donald got ahead of me, after all. I came the day after Barkley
was killed. I took it as a kind fate that the day preceding the killing
I shot a grouse for my dinner, and as the bird was only wounded when I
picked it up, I got blood on the sleeves of my coat. I was arrested.
Kedsty, every one, was sure they had the real man. And I kept quiet,
except to maint