nd counter edge. And, the crowning indignity of all--felt
himself dragged like a flayed carcass the full length of the room, out
of the door, and jerked to his feet upon the verge of the steep descent
to the lake. Felt the propelling impact of the heavy boot that sent
him crashing headlong into the underbrush through which he rolled and
tumbled like a mealbag, to bring up suddenly in the cold water.

The whole scene passed through his brain as dreams flash--almost within
the batting of an eye. Half-consciously, he saw the girl's sudden
start, and the look of alarm upon her face as she drew back from the
glare of his hate-flashing eyes and the bestial snarl of his lips.
With an effort he composed himself:

"Pardon, Miss Elliston, I have frightened you with an uncouth show of
savagery. It is a rough, hard country--this land of the wolf and the
caribou. Primal instincts and brutish passions here are
unrestrained--a fact responsible for my present battered appearance.
For, as I said, it was no accident that marred me thus, unless,
perchance, the prowling of the brute across my path may be attributed
to accident--rather, I believe it was timed."

"The brute! Who, or what is the brute? And why should he harm you?"

"MacNair is his name--Bob MacNair." There was a certain tense hardness
in the man's tone, and Chloe was conscious that the smouldering eyes
were regarding her searchingly.

"MacNair," said the girl, "why, that is the name on those bales!"

"What bales?"

"The bales in the scow--they are on the river-bank now."

"My scows carrying MacNair's freight!" cried the man, and motioning her
to accompany him he walked rapidly to the bank where lay the four or
five pieces, upon which Chloe had read the name. Lapierre dropped to
his knees and regarded the pieces intently, suddenly he leaped to his
feet with a laugh and called in the Indian tongue to one of his
canoemen. The man brought him an ax, and raising it high, Lapierre
brought it crashing upon the innocent-looking freight piece. There was
a sound of smashing staves, a gurgle of liquid, and the strong odour of
whiskey assailed their nostrils.

The piece was a keg, cunningly disguised as to shape, and covered with
burlap. One by one the man attacked the other pieces marked with the
name of MacNair, and as each cask was smashed, the whiskey gurgled and
splashed and seeped into the ground. Chloe watched breathlessly until
Lapierre finished, and with a