water into his own swollen face, and then stared upward, as though this
last experiment was also his last hope.

"My God, I'm blind--stone blind!"

Jan was staring hard into O'Grady's face. He called him nearer, took
the swollen and blackened face between his two hands, and his voice was
trembling with joy when he spoke.

"You're not blind--not for good--O'Grady," he said. "I've seen men like
you before--twice. You--you'll get well. O'Grady--Clarry O'Grady--let's
shake! I'm a brother to you from this day on. And I'm glad--glad--that
Marie loves a man like you!"

O'Grady had gripped his hand, but he dropped it now as though it had
been one of the live brands that had hurtled down upon them from the
top of the mountain.

"Marie--man--why--she HATES me!" he cried. "It's you--YOU--Jan Larose,
that she loves! I went there with a broken leg, an' I fell in love with
her. But she wouldn't so much as let me touch her hand, an' she talked
of you--always--always--until I had learned to hate you before you
came. I dunno why she did it--that other thing--unless it was to make
you jealous. I guess it was all f'r fun, Jan. She didn't know. The day
you went away she sent me after you. But I hated you--hated you worse'n
she hated me. It's you--you--"

He clutched his hands at his sightless face again, and suddenly Jan
gave a wild shout. Creeping around the edge of a smoking headland, he
had caught sight of a man and a canoe.

"There's a man in a canoe!" he cried, "He sees us! O'Grady--"

He tried to lift himself, but fell back with a groan. Then he laughed,
and, in spite of his agony, there was a quivering happiness in his
voice.

"He's coming, O'Grady. And it looks--it looks like a canoe we both
know. We'll go back to her cabin together, O'Grady. And when we're on
our legs again--well, I never wanted the gold. That's yours--all of it."

A determined look had settled in O'Grady's face. He groped his way to
Jan's side, and their hands met in a clasp that told more than either
could have expressed of the brotherhood and strength of men.

"You can't throw me off like that, Jan Larose," he said. "We're
pardners!"

THE MATCH

Sergeant Brokaw was hatchet-faced, with shifting pale blue eyes that
had a glint of cruelty in them. He was tall, and thin, and lithe as a
cat. He belonged to the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and was one of
the best men on the trail that had ever gone into the North. His
business was man hunt