he
boy's voice that warned him that he would not hesitate to shoot again,
and at that distance he could not miss. The Indian froze into a statue.

"Turn around and git!" commanded Sparrer. He was not afraid. He knew
that the rifle gave him the whip hand. A boy of his age from higher
walks in life might have been intimidated. Not so Sparrer. Young in
years, he was old in experience. He had seen too many drunken brawls,
too many "bad men" in his street life, and knew too much of human nature
to feel fear with that gun at his shoulder. Instead a white hot
consuming rage welled up within him as when he had rushed to the defense
of some weakling against the attack of a cowardly bully. He saw red.

"Youse git!" he repeated and there was a threat in the very way in which
he said it.

For a brief second the Indian hesitated. Then with an ugly snarl like
that of a trapped beast he slowly turned. Baffled rage distorted his
face until it was more like that of some savage animal than of a human
being. It was humiliating to be balked by a slip of a boy. It was worse
to have a fortune almost within his reach and be forced to leave it.
There was murder, black murder, in his heart as he slowly shuffled
forward a few steps.

Suddenly he turned like a flash and with a peculiar swing threw the axe.
Sparrer knew nothing of the art of axe throwing at which many woodsmen
are expert and are deadly in their quickness and precision. He was
wholly unprepared for the move and it caught him off guard. He caught a
glimpse of glinting steel and instinctively ducked as he had learned to
do in fighting. At the same time he threw up his rifle. The axe struck
the barrel of the latter just enough to be slightly deflected from its
course and the end of the handle instead of the keen blade struck the
boy a crashing blow on the side of the head. Without a sound he dropped
in his tracks.

A slow grin overspread the face of his assailant as he strode over and
looked down at the white still face of his victim. After all it was
better so. He had not killed him and there was less to fear from the
long arm of the law. Contemptuously he touched the still form with the
toe of a shoe. Then gloatingly he picked up the fox, hesitated and
picked up the rabbit. Without another glance at the huddled form on the
snow he turned and vanished among the trees.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CONFERENCE

Sparrer's eyelids fluttered, then slowly lifted. Dully and
uncompreh