could not choose, and
yet he knew he must do so or--

Baptiste spoke again.

"Choose!"

Lablache again bent his eyes upon the hills. But his lashless lids would
flicker, and his vision became impaired. He turned to the Breed with an
imploring gesture. Baptiste made no movement. His relentless expression
remained unchanged. The wretched man turned away to the rest of the
Breeds.

A pistol was leveled at his head and he turned back to Baptiste. The
only comfort he obtained was a monosyllabic command.

"Choose!"

"God, man, I can't." Lablache gasped out the words which seemed
literally to be wrung from him.

"Choose!" The inexorable tone sent a shudder over the distraught man.
Even in the starlight the expression of the villain's face was hideous
to behold.

Baptiste's voice again rang out on the still night air.

"Move him!"

A pistol was pushed behind his ear.

"Do y' hear?"

"Mercy--mercy!" cried the distraught man. But he made no move.

There was an instant's pause. Then the loud report of the threatening
pistol rang out. It had been fired through the lobe of his ear.

"Oh, God!"

The exclamation was forced from Jacky. The torture--the horror nearly
drove her wild. She lifted her reins as though to ride to the villain's
aid. Then something--some cruel recollection--stayed her. She remembered
her uncle and her heart hardened.

The merciless torture of the Breed was allowed to pass.

To the wretched victim it seemed that his ear-drum must be split for the
shot had left him almost stone deaf. The blood trickled from the wound.
He almost leapt forward. Then he stood all of a tremble as he felt the
ground shake beneath him. A cold sweat poured down his great face.

"Choose!" Baptiste followed the terror-stricken man up.

"No--no! Don't shoot! Yes, I'll go--only--don't shoot."

The abject cowardice the great man now displayed was almost pitiable.
Bill's lip curled in disdain. He had expected that this man would have
shown a bold front.

He had always believed Lablache to be, at least, a man of courage. But
he did not allow for the circumstances--the surroundings. Lablache on
the safe ground of the prairie would have faced disaster very
differently. The thought of that sucking mire was too terrible. The oily
maw of that death-trap was a thing to strike horror into the bravest
heart.

"Which path?" Baptiste spoke, waving his hand in the direction of the
mountains.

Lablache moved cautiously for