share in the work on the Bend. Afterward, he
joined them. They were free, and crazy with their freedom. He matched
his strength with theirs; dared where they faltered; won--won----

But there was no hope for The Plow-Woman!

He was back on the other trail, and it led to the gallery where Oliver's
hammock swung. The outcast made swift motions with his hands. He was
hustled along with the guard. The sliding-panel opened. The tent-flaps
of Brown Mink's lodge were lifted. He was caught in a mad onrush; he was
howled at; spat upon. Finally, a bruised, exiled traitor, more despised,
if possible, than before, he fled skulking away.

And here was no hope for his honour!

He was back at the parting of the trails, one man again, helpless before
the knowledge that safety for the shack meant the wiping out forever of
his dream of becoming a brave.

When the pack deserted him, his forehead thumped the ground. Lame Foot's
woman threw him a bone, hitting him fairly on the shoulder. The blow
went unheeded, and he gave no thought to the pickings. The dogs,
returning, fought over him. He only clawed the earth in an effort to lie
flat. The bone yielded to the strongest and fiercest, the other curs
leaped about him, licking at his hair. Now he did not kick them.

Of a sudden, he remembered David Bond. He got feebly to his knees,
covering his face from the dogs. The evangelist had laid a charge upon
him: No matter what came, he was to think first of the shack. He had
accepted it before he knew it would clash with his own purpose. Was he
held to the promise now? David Bond was dead. If he were not obeyed, he
could never come back to punish.

But he had said to give up all--even life. He had given his own life for
the stolen white women. What he preached he had followed. "Greater
love," he had said, "hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life
for his friends."

It was a queer saying. If a brave went down when a tribe met another in
battle, then a friend of the dead _took_ a life for that life. To _give_
a life--it was different, and foolish! Was it not even cowardly for one
to expect another to die for him? And yet----

He found himself upon his feet, listening. Across the stockade he saw
the ruddy glow-worms of the scattered pipes dancing in the dark. But a
moment later, when blinding flashes lit up the huge pen, the hostages
were sitting as before, their faces lowered moodily.

Still he listened. And it came again, from