staggered out into
the fire-lit clearing. Dully, Chloe noticed that the Indian who had
been firing from the floor slipped stealthily through the doorway and,
dropping to his knee, raised his rifle. The next instant the girl's
eyes widened in horror. The gun was pointed squarely at MacNair's
back. She tried to cry out, but no sound came. It seemed minutes that
the Indian sighted as he knelt there in the clearing. And then--he
pulled the trigger. There was a sharp, metallic click, followed by a
muttered imprecation. The man jerked down the rifle and reaching into
his pocket, produced long yellow cartridges, which he jammed into the
magazine.

The horror of it! The diabolical deliberation of the man spurred the
girl to a fury she had never known. In that moment her one thought was
to kill--to kill with her hands--to rend--to tear--and to maim! For
the first time she realized that the thing in her hand was a gun.

Again the Indian was raising his rifle. The girl twisted and jerked at
the bolt of her own gun. It was locked. The next instant, with a
loud, animal-like cry, she leaped for the doorway, trampling, as she
passed, with a wild, fierce joy upon the upturned staring face of the
dead Indian.

Out in the clearing the flames roared and crackled. Rifles spat. And
before her the Indian was again lining his sights. Grasping the heavy
rifle by the barrel, Chloe whirled it high above her and brought it
down with a crash upon the head of the kneeling savage. The man
crumpled as dead men crumple--in an ugly, twisted heap. Fierce, swift
exultation shot through the girl's brain as she stood beside the
formless thing on the ground. She looked up--squarely into the eyes of
MacNair, who had turned at the sound of her outcry.

"I said you would fight!" called the man. "I have seen it in your
eyes. They are the eyes of the man on the wall."

Then, abruptly, he turned and disappeared in the direction of the river.

CHAPTER XIII

LAPIERRE RETURNS FROM THE SOUTH

When Pierre Lapierre left Chloe Elliston's school after the completion
of the buildings, he proceeded at once to his own rendezvous on Lac du
Mort.

This shrewdly chosen stronghold was situated on a high, jutting point
that rose abruptly from the waters of the inland lake, which surrounded
it upon three sides. The land side was protected by an enormous black
spruce swamp. This headland terminated in a small, rock-rimmed
plateau, perhaps