th the toe of his boot.

"Wake up, you fiend," he said. "I'm going to break your bones, your
arms, your legs, just as you broke Peter--and that poor old woman back
in the cabin. Wake up!"

Jed Hawkins made no stir. He was strangely limp. For many seconds Jolly
Roger stood looking down at him, his eyes growing wider, more staring.
Darkness came again. It was an inky blackness this time, like a
blotter over the world. Low thunder came out of the west. The tree-tops
whispered in a frightened sort of way. And Jolly Roger could hear his
heart beating. He dropped upon his knees, and his hands moved over Jed
Hawkins. For a space not even Peter could have heard his movement or his
breath.

In the ebon darkness he rose to his feet, and the night--lifelessly
still for a moment--heard the one choking word that came from his lips.

"Dead!"

And there he stood, the heat of his rage changing to an icy chill, his
heart dragging within him like a chunk of lead, his breath choking in
his throat. Jed Hawkins was dead! He was growing stiff there in the
black trail. He had ceased to breathe. He had ceased to be a part of
life. And the wind, rising a little with the coming of storm, seemed to
whisper and chortle over the horrible thing, and the lone wolf in Indian
Tom's swamp howled weirdly, as if he smelled death.

Jolly Roger McKay's finger-nails dug into the flesh of his palms. If he
had killed the human viper at his feet, if his own hands had meted out
his punishment, he would not have felt the clammy terror that wrapped
itself about him in the darkness. But he had come too late. It was Nada
who had killed Jed Hawkins. Nada, with her woman's soul just born in
all its glory, had taken the life of her foster-father. And Canadian law
knew no excuse for killing.

The chill crept to his finger-tips, and unconsciously, in a childish
sort of way, he sobbed between his clenched teeth. The thunder was
rolling nearer, and it was like a threatening voice, a deep-toned
booming of a thing inevitable and terrible. He felt the air shivering
about him, and suddenly something moved softly against his foot, and he
heard a questioning whine. It was Peter--come back to him in this hour
when he needed a living thing to give him courage. With a groan he
dropped on his knees again, and clutched his hands about Peter.

"My God," he breathed huskily. "Peter, she's killed him. And she mustn't
know. We mustn't let anyone know--"

And there he stopped,