the
beckoning arms.

As her form was swallowed up in the blackness, another form--a gigantic
figure that bore clutched in the grasp of a capable hand the helve of an
ax, upon the polished steel of whose double-bitted blade the moonbeams
gleamed cruelly--slipped from the door of the kitchen and followed
swiftly in the wake of the girl. Big Lena was taking no chances.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WOLF-CRY!

So sudden and unexpected had been Lapierre's _denouement_ at the hands
of the Indian girl and Big Lena, that when he quitted Chloe Elliston's
living-room the one thought in his mind was to return to his stronghold
on Lac du Mort. For the first time the real seriousness of his
situation forced itself upon him. He knew that no accident had brought
the officer of the Mounted to the Lac du Mort stronghold in company
with Bob MacNair, and he realized the utter futility of attempting an
escape to the outside, since the shooting of the officer at the very
walls of the stockade.

As the husband of Chloe Elliston, the thing might have been
accomplished. But alone or in company with the half-dozen outlaws who
had accompanied him to the school, never. There was but one course
open to him: To return to Lac du Mort and make a stand against the
authorities and against MacNair. And the fact that the man realized in
all probability it would be his last stand, was borne to the
understanding of the men who accompanied him.

These men knew nothing of the reason for Lapierre's trip to the school,
but they were not slow to perceive that whatever the reason was,
Lapierre had failed in its accomplishment. For they knew Lapierre as a
man who rarely lost his temper.

They knew him as one equal to any emergency--one who would shoot a man
down in cold blood for disobeying an order or relaxing vigilance, but
who would shoot with a smile rather than a frown.

Thus when Lapierre joined them in their camp at the edge of the
clearing, and with a torrent of unreasoning curses ordered the dogs
harnessed and the outfit got under way for Lac du Mort, they knew their
cause was at best a forlorn hope.

Darkness overtook them and they camped to await the rising of the late
moon. While the men prepared the supper, Lapierre glowered upon his
sled by the fire, occasionally leaping to his feet to stamp impatiently
up and down upon the snow. The leader spoke no word and none ventured
to address him. The meal was eaten in silence. At its conc