withdrew his hand. He understood. His venom against the white
race was only the further increased.

"Say," he growled, his eyes lighting with added ferocity. "That cargo
is to be run down the river on Monday night about midnight. There'll
be a big rack of hay come in by trail--the river trail--and most of
the gang'll be with it. If you locate it they calculate you'll get
busy unloading to find the liquor. Meanwhile the cargo'll slip through
on the river, in a small boat. Savee? Guess there'll be jest one
feller with that boat, an'--he'll be the feller that's--that's had you
red coats skinned a mile all these months an' years."

Fyles gathered up his reins.

"Just one word," he said coldly. "I hate a traitor worse than poison,
but I'm paid to get these people. So my word goes, if your story's
true. If it isn't--well, take my advice and get out quick, or--you
won't have time."

Before the half-breed had time to reply Peter threw up his head, and
set off at the touch of his master's spurs.

CHAPTER XXXIII

PLAYING THE GAME

For some moments the two men faced each other in a sort of grim
silence. It was already daylight. Sunday morning was breaking under a
cloudless sky.

At last McBain rose from his seat at the deal table which served him
for a desk. He reached out and turned out the lamp. Its light was no
longer needed. Then he stretched himself and yawned.

"Had enough of it?" inquired Fyles, catching the infection and
stifling a yawn.

"Just what you might notice, sir." A shadowy smile played about the
Scot's hard mouth, but it was gone in a moment.

Fyles nodded.

"So have I," he agreed. "But we've broke the back of things.
And--you'll be kept busy all day to--I was going to say to-morrow. I
mean to-day."

McBain sat down again.

"Yes, sir. A couple of hours' sleep'll do me, though. We daren't spare
ourselves. It's sort of life and death to us."

Fyles shot a keen look into the other's face.

"I shouldn't be surprised if it were literally so."

"You think, sir----?"

McBain's voice was sharply questioning.

But Fyles only laughed. There was no mirth in his expression, and
McBain understood.

"Never mind," the officer went on, with a careless shrug. "Best turn
in. We'll know all about it when the time comes."

He rose from his seat, and McBain, with a brief "Good night, sir,"
disappeared into the inner room.

But Fyles did not follow his example for a few moments. He went to the