tortured
her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne--"

A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and
a shiver ran through his body.

"My God!--water--something--M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!"

Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw MacDougall's head appear
through the door.

"You will rest easier this way, Pierre," he said.

After a few moments Pierre spoke in a gasping whisper.

"You must understand. I must be quick," he said. "We could not warn you
of what Jeanne had discovered. That would have revealed her father.
D'Arcambal would have known--every one. Thorpe plans to dress his
men--like Indians. They are to attack your camp to-morrow night. Ten
days ago we went to the camp of old Sachigo, the Cree, who loves Jeanne
as his own daughter. It was Jeanne's idea--to save you. Jeanne told him
of Thorpe's plot to destroy you, and to lay the blame on Sachigo's
people. Sachigo is out there--in the mountains--hiding with thirty of
his tribe. Two days ago Jeanne learned where her father's men were
hiding. We had planned everything. To-morrow night--when they move to
attack--we were to start a signal-fire on the big rock mountain at the
end of the lake. Sachigo starts at the signal, and lays in ambush for
the others in the ravine between the two mountains. None of Thorpe's
men will come out alive. Sachigo and his people will destroy them, and
none will ever know how it happened, for the Crees keep their secrets.
But now--it is too late--for me. When it happens--I will be gone. The
signal-pile is built--birch-bark--at the very top of the rock. Jeanne
will wait for me out on the plain--and I will not come. You must fire
the signal, M'sieur--as soon as it is dark. None will ever know.
Jeanne's father is dead. You will keep the secret--of her
mother--always--"

"Forever," said Philip.

MacDougall came into the room, He brought a glass, partly filled with a
colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre's lips. Pierre swallowed with
an effort, and with a significant hunch of his shoulders for Philip's
eyes alone the engineer returned to the little room.

"Mon Dieu, how it burns!" said Pierre, as if to himself. "May I lie
down again, M'sieur?"

Philip lowered him gently. He made no effort to speak in these moments.
Pierre's eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his own. The
draught he had taken gave him a passing strength.

"I saw Thorpe again this afternoon," he said, more calmly. "D'Arca