pieces under Jan after that. There came the day when, in fair fight, he
choked the taunting sneer from O'Grady's face back in the woods. He
fought like a tiger, a mad demon. No one ever knew of that fight. And
with the demon still raging in his breast he faced the girl. He could
never quite remember what he had said. But it was terrible--and came
straight from his soul. Then he went out, leaving Marie standing there
white and silent. He did not go back. He had sworn never to do that,
and during the weeks that followed it spread about that Marie Cummins
had turned down Jan Larose, and that Clarry O'Grady was now the lucky
man. It was one of the unexplained tricks of fate that had brought them
together, and had set their discovery stakes side by side on Pelican
Creek.

To-day, in spite of his smiling coolness, Jan's heart rankled with a
bitterness that seemed to be concentrated of all the dregs that had
ever entered into his life. It poisoned him, heart and soul. He was not
a coward. He was not afraid of O'Grady.

And yet he knew that fate had already played the cards against him. He
would lose. He was almost confident of that, even while he nerved
himself to fight. There was the drop of savage superstition in him, and
he told himself that something would happen to beat him out. O'Grady
had gone into the home that was almost his own and had robbed him of
Marie. In that fight in the forest he should have killed him. That
would have been justice, as he knew it. But he had relented, half for
Marie's sake, and half because he hated to take a human life, even
though it were O'Grady's. But this time there would be no relenting. He
had come alone to the top of the ridge to settle the last doubts with
himself. Whoever won out, there would be a fight. It would be a
magnificent fight, like that which his grandfather had fought and won
for the honor of a woman years and years ago. He was even glad that
O'Grady was trying to rob him of what he had searched for and found.
There would be twice the justice in killing him now. And it would be
done fairly, as his grandfather had done it.

Suddenly there came a piercing shout from the direction of the river,
followed by a wild call for him through Jackpine's moose-horn. He
answered the Cree's signal with a yell and tore down through the bush.
When he reached the foot of the ridge at the edge of the clearing he
saw the men, women and children of Porcupine City running to the river.
In f