:

"It is her dog, m'sieu. It is Parka--and Dupont sells him today to show
her that he is master."

Already Paquette was advertising the virtues of Parka when Reese
Beaudin, in a single leap, mounted the log platform, and stood beside
him.

"Wait!" he cried.

There fell a silence, and Reese said, loud enough for all to hear:

"M'sieu Paquette, I ask the privilege of examining this dog that I want
to buy."

At last he straightened, and all who faced him saw the smiling sneer on
his lips.

"Who is it that offers this worthless cur for sale?" Lac Bain heard him
say. "P-s-s-st--it is a woman's dog! It is not worth bidding for!"

"You lie!" Dupont's voice rose in a savage roar. His huge shoulders
bulked over those about him. He crowded to the edge of the platform.
"You lie!"

"He is a woman's dog," repeated Reese Beaudin without excitement, yet
so clearly that every ear heard. "He is a woman's pet, and M'sieu
Dupont most surely does lie if he denies it!"

So far as memory went back no man at Lac Bain that day had ever heard
another man give Jacques Dupont the lie. A thrill swept those who heard
and understood. There was a great silence, in that silence men near him
heard the choking rage in Dupont's great chest. He was staring
up--straight up into the smiling face of Reese Beaudin; and in that
moment he saw beyond the glossy black beard, and amazement and unbelief
held him still. In the next, Reese Beaudin had the violin in his hands.
He flung off the buckskin, and in a flash the instrument was at his
shoulder.

"See! I will play, and the woman's pet shall sing!"

And once more, after five years, Lac Bain listened to the magic of
Reese Beaudin's violin. And it was Elise's old love song that he
played. He played it, smiling down into the eyes of a monster whose
face was turning from red to black; yet he did not play it to the end,
nor a quarter of it, for suddenly a voice shouted:

"It is Reese Beaudin--come back!"

Joe Delesse, paralyzed, speechless, could have sworn it was the hooded
stranger who shouted; and then he remembered, and flung up his great
arms, and bellowed:

"Oui--by the Saints, it is Reese Beaudin--Reese Beaudin come back!"

Suddenly as it had begun the playing ceased, and Henri Paquette found
himself with the violin in his hands. Reese Beaudin turned, facing them
all, the wintry sun glowing in his beard, his eyes smiling, his head
high--unafraid now, more fearless than any other man tha