camp-fire, and
drawing away from the wild savagery of the scene, stole alone out into
the dense blackness of the swamp and detouring to the shore of the
lake, seated himself upon an uprooted tree-butt.

An hour passed as he sat thinking--staring into the dark. The moon
rose and illumined with soft radiance the indomitable land of the raw.
MacNair's gaze roved from the forbidding blackness of the farther
shore-line, across the dead, cold snow-level of the ice-locked lake, to
the bold headlands that rose sheer upon his right and upon his left.
The scene was one of unbending _hardness_--of nature's frowning
defiance of man. The soft touch of the moonlight jarred upon his mood.
Death lurked in the shadows--and death, and worse than death, awaited
the dawning of the day. It was a _hard_ land--the North--having naught
to do with beauty and the soft brilliance of moonlight. He glanced
toward the jutting rock-ribbed plateau that was Lapierre's stronghold.
Out of the night--out of the intense blackness of the spruce-guarded
dark came the wailing howl of the savage scalp-dance.

"The real spirit of the North," he murmured bitterly. He arose to his
feet, and, with his eyes fixed upon the bold headland of the little
plateau, stretched his great arms toward the spot that concealed the
woman he loved--and then he turned and passed swiftly into the
blackness of the forest.

But despite the frenzy of the blood-lust, at no time were the Indians
out of MacNair's control, and when he ordered quiet, the incantations
ceased at the word and they sought their blankets to dream eagerly of
the morrow.

Morning came, and long before sunrise a thin line of men, women, and
heavily laden dog-sleds put out from the farther shore of the lake and
headed for the black spruce swamp. The clan of MacNair was gathering
to the call of the wolf.

The newcomers were conducted to the log stockade where the women were
left to store the provisions, while MacNair called a council of his
fighting men and laid out his plan of attack. He glanced with pride
into the eager faces of the men who would die for him. He counted
eighty-seven men under arms, thirty of whom were armed with Lapierre's
Mausers.

The position of the quarter-breed's fort admitted only one plan of
attack--to rush the barricade that stretched across the neck of the
little peninsula. MacNair longed for action. He chafed with
impatience to strike the blow that would crush forever th