s of water, shot from the
glacier's edge above, still held me in its spell of awe. I cast my
eyes toward the _chateau_ and over the frozen lake toward the distant,
unknown mountains.

Then I turned resolutely away.

And at that moment I heard Leroux's voice hailing me, and looked round
to see him emerge from the tunnel at my side. He was staring in
bewilderment at the cataract.

"Hewlett, I don't know what possessed me to take the wrong turn
to-night!" he cried. "I have come through that tunnel a hundred times
and never missed the path before."

He swung round petulantly, and at that moment a shadow glided out of
the darkness and stood in front of him. It was Pierre Caribou, lean,
sinewy and old. He blocked the path and faced Leroux in silence.

Leroux looked at him, and an oath broke from his lips as he read the
other's purpose upon his face. Squaring his mighty shoulders and
clenching his fists, he leaped at him headlong.

Pierre stepped quietly aside, and Simon measured his full length within
the tunnel. But, when he had scrambled to his feet with a bellowing
challenge, Pierre was in front of him again.

"What are you here for?" roared Leroux, but in a quavering voice that
did not sound like his own. "Get out of the way or I'll smash your
face!"

The Indian still blocked the passage. "Your time come now, Simon. All
finish now," he answered.

Simon drew back a pace and watched him, and I heard him breathing like
one who has run a race.

"You come here one, two year ago," Pierre continued. "You eat up home
of M. Duchaine, my master. Old M. Duchaine my master, too. I belong
here. You eat up all, come back, eat up some more. Then you sell
Mlle. Jacqueline to Louis d'Epernay. You made her run 'way to New
York. I ask your _diable_ when your time come. Your _diable_ he say
wait. I wait. Mlle. Jacqueline come back. I ask your _diable_ again.
He say wait some more. Now your _diable_ tell me he send you here
to-night because your time come, and all finish now."

The face that Simon turned on me was not in the least like his own. It
was that of a hopeless man who knows that everything he had prized is
lost. He had never cowered before anyone in his life, I think, but he
cowered now before Pierre Caribou.

"Hewlett!" he cried in a high-pitched, quavering voice, "help me throw
this old fool out of the way."

I spoke to Pierre. "Our quarrel is at an end," I said. "I am going
away. You m