sive, lined, hard, weather-beaten face
might have been a sneering gargoyle's, carved out of granite on some
cathedral wall.

He stood half sheltered by the projecting ledge, and his aspect so
fascinated me that I forgot my resolution to shoot to kill.

"_Bonjour_, M. Hewlett," he called across the chasm. "Don't be afraid
of me any more than I am afraid of you. Just wait a moment. I want to
talk business."

"I have no business to talk with you," I answered.

"But I did not say it was with you, _monsieur_," he answered in
sneering tones. "It is with our friend, Duchaine. _Hola_, Duchaine!"

At the sound of Leroux's voice the old man straightened himself and
began muttering and looking from the one to the other of us undecidedly.

In vain I tried to drag him within the tunnel. He shook himself free
from me and sprang out on the icy ledge, and he poised himself there,
turning his head from side to side as either of us spoke. And he
effectively prevented me from shooting Leroux.

"Don't you know your best friends, Duchaine?" inquired Leroux; and the
white beard was tipped toward the other side of the ledge.

"I don't know who my friends are, Simon," answered Duchaine, in his
mild, melancholy voice. "What do you want?"

"Why, I want you, Charles, my old friend," replied Leroux in a voice
expressive of surprize. "You old fool, do you want to die? If you do,
go with that gentleman. He comes from Quebec on government business."

But I could plead better than that. I knew the symbol in his
imagination.

"M. Duchaine! Come with me!" I cried. "He has a gallows ready for you
back in that tunnel!"

It was a pitiful scheme, and yet for the life of me I could think of no
other way to win him. And, as it happened, the word associated itself
in the listener's mind as much with the speaker as with the man spoken
of, for I saw Duchaine start violently and cling to the icy wall.

"No, no!" he cried; "I won't go with either of you. I am a poor old
man. It was my brother who shot the soldier, and he is dead. Go away!"

He burst into senile tears and cowered there, surely the most pitiful
spectacle that fate ever made of a man. The memories of the past
thronged around him like avenging demons.

Suddenly I saw him turn his head and fix his eyes upon Leroux. He
craned his neck forward; and then, very slowly, he began to walk toward
his persecutor. I craned my neck.

Leroux was holding out--the roulette whe