the
speech, the man took out a pipe and slowly filled it with tobacco from a
little deerskin bag.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Clavering, partly to hide his
anger, and partly because he was more than a little curious on the
subject.

"Well," said the man reflectively. "I don't quite know. Keep you here
until Larry comes, any way. It wouldn't take long to fix it so you'd be
sorry you had worried poor folks if the boys would listen to me."

This was even less encouraging; but there were still points on which
Clavering desired enlightenment.

"Will Muller bring Miss Torrance and her companion here?" he asked.

The bushman nodded. "I guess he will. It's quite a long way to Allonby's,
and they'll be 'most frozen after waiting in the bluff. Now, I'm not
anxious for any more talk with you."

A little flush crept into Clavering's forehead; but it was not the man's
contemptuous brusqueness which brought it there, though that was not
without its effect. It was evident that the most he could hope for was
Larry's clemency, and that would be difficult to tolerate. But there was
another ordeal before him. Hetty was also coming back, and would see him a
prisoner in the hands of the men he had looked down upon with ironical
contempt. Had the contempt been assumed, his position would have been less
intolerable; but it was not, and the little delicately venomous jibes he
seldom lost an opportunity of flinging at the homesteaders expressed no
more than he felt, and were now and then warranted.

Clavering, of course, knew that to pose as a prisoner as the result of his
efforts on her behalf would stir Hetty's sympathy, and his endurance of
persecution at the hands of the rabble for his adherence to the principles
he fancied she held would further raise him in her estimation; but he had
no desire to acquire her regard in that fashion. He would have preferred
to take the chances of a rifle-shot, for while he had few scruples he had
been born with a pride which, occasionally at least, prevented his
indulgence in petty knavery; and, crushing down his anger, he set himself
to consider by what means he could extricate himself.

None, however, were very apparent. The homesteader showed no sign of
drowsiness or relaxed vigilance, but sat tranquilly alert, watching him
through the curling smoke. It was also some distance to the door, which,
from where Clavering sat, appeared to be fastened and he knew the quick
precision with