lusion the
men took heart and sprang eagerly to obey an order--the order puzzled
them not a little, but no man questioned it. For the command came
crisp and sharp, and without profanity, in a voice they well knew.
Lapierre was himself again, and his black eyes gleamed wickedly as he
rolled a cigarette by the light of the rising moon.

The dogs were whirled upon the back-trail, and once more the outfit
headed for the school upon the bank of the Yellow Knife. It was well
toward midnight when Lapierre called a halt. They were close to the
edge of the clearing. Leaving one man with the dogs and motioning the
others to follow, he stole noiselessly from tree to tree until the dull
square of light that glowed from the window of Chloe Elliston's room
showed distinctly through the interlacing branches. The quarters of
the Indians were shrouded in darkness. For a long time Lapierre stood
staring at the little square of light, while his men, motionless as
statues, blended into the shadows of the trees. The light was
extinguished. The quarter-breed moved to the edge of the clearing and,
seating himself upon the root of a gnarled banskian, rapidly outlined
his plan.

Suddenly his form stiffened and he drew close against the trunk of his
tree, motioning the others to do likewise. The door of the cottage had
opened. A parka-clad figure stepped from the little veranda, paused
uncertainly in the moonlight, and then, with light, swinging strides,
moved directly toward the banskian. Lapierre's pulse quickened, and
his lips twisted into an evil smile. That the figure was none other
than Chloe Elliston was easily discernible in the bright moonlight, and
with fiendish satisfaction the quarter-breed realized that the girl was
playing directly into his hands. For, as he sat upon the sled beside
the little camp-fire, his active brain had evolved a new scheme. If
Chloe Elliston could not be made to accompany him willingly, why not
unwillingly?

Lapierre believed that once safely entrenched behind the barriers of
the Bastile du Mort, he could hold out for a matter of six months
against any forces which were likely to attack him. He realized that
his most serious danger was from MacNair and his Indians. For Lapierre
knew MacNair. He knew that once upon his trail, MacNair would
relentlessly stick to that trail--the trail that must end at a
grave--many graves, in fact. For as the forces stood, Lapierre knew
that many men must d