understand this is not to be used unless the worst happens to me."

Giddings nodded.

"You must give me your word that no proceedings will be taken against
the man I name--unless I die. I will not die. When I get up I will
attend to him."

"I promise," said Giddings.

After a brief pause Gaviller said:

"I was shot by the breed known as Sandy Selkirk."

Ambrose sharply caught his breath. A great light broke upon him.

Gaviller went on:

"He caught a black fox last winter that he has persistently refused to
give up to me. Out of sheer obstinacy he preferred to starve his
family. Yesterday Strange told me he thought it likely Selkirk would
try to dispose of the skin to Ambrose Doane, the free-trader who is
hanging around the fort."

Giddings sent a startled glance toward the door.

"Strange said perhaps news of it had been carried down the river, and
that was what Doane had come for. So I went to Selkirk's shack last
night to get it. I consider it mine, because Selkirk already owes the
company its value. Any attempt to dispose of it elsewhere would be the
same as robbing me.

"Selkirk refused to give it up, and I took it. He shot me from behind.
There were no witnesses but his family. That is all I want to say."

"I have it," murmured Giddings.

The gray head rolled impatiently on the pillow. "Giddings, don't let
that skin get away. I rely on you. Be firm. Be secret."

"I'll do my best," said the doctor.

He came to the door, ostensibly to close it, showing a scared face. "I
didn't know what was coming," his lips shaped.

Ambrose nodded to him reassuringly, meaning to convey that nothing he
had heard would influence his actions.

Giddings closed the door, and Ambrose returned down-stairs with a heart
that sunk lower at each step. What he had at first regarded calmly
enough as Gaviller's tragedy he now clearly saw was likely to prove
tragic for himself.

It was useless to try to put Colina off.

"I must know!" she cried passionately. "I'm the head here now. I must
know where we all stand."

Ambrose told her. To save her feelings he instinctively softened the
harsher features. It did not do his own cause any good later.

"Oh, the wretch!" breathed Colina between set teeth. "I know him! A
sneaking little scoundrel! Just the one to shoot from behind! To
think we must let him go! That is the hardest."

Ambrose was silent.

"We must get the skin," she went on eagerly. "Gi