between the blue-grey lips sang a wild, shrill
scream of abysmal soul-terror. Chloe Elliston's heart went sick at the
cry, which rang in her ears as the very epitome of mortal agony. She
felt her knees grow weak and she glanced at the Louchoux girl, who
knelt close, still staring into the upturned face, the while her red
lips smiled.

Closer, and closer crowded the Indians. MacNair deliberately reversed
the gun, his huge fist still gripping the butt. The top of the barrel
was turned downward, and the sight bit deep into the skin at the roots
of the hair on Lapierre's temple. Deeper and deeper sank the sight.
MacNair's fingers tightened their grip until the knuckles whitened and
a huge shoulder hunched to throw its weight upon the arm.

Slowly, very slowly, the sight moved across the upturned brow, tearing
the flesh, rolling up the skin before its dull, broad edge. The
quarter-breed's muscles strained and his legs twined spasmodically
about the legs of MacNair, while his fingers tore through the snow and
clawed at the bark of the wood-pile. Deliberately, the gun-sight
ripped and tore across the forehead--grooving the bone. The wide scar
showed raw and red, and in spots the skull flashed white. The broad
line lost itself in the hair upon the opposite temple.

Again MacNair buried the sight, this time among the hair roots of the
median line. Once more the gun began its slow journey, travelling
downward, crossing the lateral scar with a ragged tear. Once more the
flesh and skin ripped and rolled before the unfaltering sight and
gathered upon the edges of the wound in ragged, tight-rolled knots and
shreds that would later heal into snaggy, rough excrescences, grey,
like the unclean dregs of a slag-pot.

A thin trickle of blood followed slowly along the groove. The
gun-sight was almost between the man's eyes, when, with a scream, Chloe
sprang forward and clutched MacNair's arm in both her hands.

"You brute!" she cried. "You inhuman brute! _I hate you_!"

MacNair answered never a word. With a sweep of his arm he flung her
from him. She spun dizzily and fell in a heap on the snow. Once more
the gun-sight rested deep against the bone at the point of its
interruption. Once more it began its inexorable advance, creeping down
between the eyes and along the bridge of the nose. Cartilage split
wide, the upper lip was cleft, and the steel clicked sharply against
blood-dripping teeth.

Then MacNair stood er