p of the
Indians, before you left for the Southward?" The sarcasm of the last
four words was not lost upon the man. "Who fired that shot? And what
was the thing that was lifted from your canoe and dropped into the
river?"

Lapierre's eyes searched hers. Did she know the truth? The chance was
against it.

"A most deplorable affair--a fight between Indians. One was killed and
we buried him in the river. I had hoped to keep this from your ears.
Such incidents are all too common in the Northland----"

"And the murderer----"

"Has escaped. But to return to the others. Both shots, as you well
know, were fired on the instant, and in neither case did I draw first."

Chloe, who had been regarding him intently, was forced to admit the
justice of his words. She noted the serious sadness of the handsome
features, the deep regret in his voice, and suddenly realized that in
both instances Lapierre's shots had been fired primarily in defence of
her.

A sudden sense of shame--of helplessness--came over her. Could it be
that she did not fit the North? Surely, Lapierre was entitled to her
gratitude, rather than her condemnation. Judged by his own standard,
he had done well. With a shudder she wondered if she would ever reach
the point where she could calmly regard the killing of men as a mere
incident in the day's work? She thought not. And yet--what had men
told her of Tiger Elliston? Without exception, almost, the deeds they
recounted had been deeds of violence and bloodshed. When she replied,
her voice had lost its note of disapproval.

"Forgive me," she said softly, "it has all been so different--so
strange and new, and big. I have been unable to grasp it. All my life
I have been taught to hold human life sacred. It is not you who are to
blame! Nor, is it the others. It is the kill or be killed creed--the
savage wolf creed--of the North."

The girl spoke rapidly, with her eyes upon the face of MacNair. So
absorbed was she that she did not see the slim fingers of Lapierre
steal softly across the table-top and extract two tablets from the
little pile--failed also to see the swift motion with which those
fingers dropped the tablets into a porcelain cup, across the rim of
which rested a silver spoon.

The man arose at the conclusion of her words, and crossing to her side
rested a slim hand upon the back of her chair. "No. Miss Elliston,"
he said gently, "I am not to blame nor, in a measure, are the o