spear-head on the tell-tale handle. I patted the spear-head, smiled
blandly back, and with my eyes dared him to go on. He paused, bit his
lip and flushed.

"No lies, no roguery, or I'll have you at the whipping-post," roared the
governor. "Speak up. Where are the parties?"

"Near about here," stammered Louis, "and you may ask your new
turn-coat."

I was betrayed! Betrayed and trapped; but he should not go free! I would
have shouted out, but Hamilton's hand silenced me.

"Here!" exclaimed the astounded governor. "Go call that young
Nor'-Wester! If _he_ backs up y'r story, _he_ was Cameron's secretary,
you can go to the buffalo hunt."

That response upset Louis' bearings. He had expected the governor would
refer to me; but the command let him out of an awkward place and he
darted from the room, as Hamilton and I supposed,--simpletons that we
were with that rogue!--to find the young Nor'-Wester. This turn of
affairs gave me my chance. If the young Nor'-Wester and Laplante came
together, my disguise as Highlander and turn-coat would be stripped from
me and I should be trapped indeed.

"Good-by, old boy!" and I gripped Hamilton's hand. "If he stays, he's
your game. When he goes, he's mine. Good luck to us both! You'll come
south when you're better."

Then I bolted through the main hall thinking to elude the canny Scots,
but saw both men in the stairway waiting to intercept me. When I ran
down a flight of side stairs, they dashed to trap me at the gate. At the
doorway a man lounged against me. The lantern light fell on a pointed
beard. It was Laplante, leaning against the wall for support and shaking
with laughter.

"You again, old tombstone! Whither away so fast?" and he made to hold
me. "I'm in a hurry myself! My last night under a roof, ha! ha! Wait
till I make my grand farewell! We both did well, did the grand, ho! ho!
But I must leave a fair demoiselle!"

"Let go," and I threw him off.

"Take that, you ramping donkey, you Anglo-Saxon animal," and he aimed a
kick in my direction. Though I could ill spare the time to do it, I
turned. All the pent-up strength, from the walk with Frances Sutherland
rushed into my clenched fist and Louis Laplante went down with a thud
across the doorway. There was the sish-rip of a knife being thrust
through my boot, but the blade broke and I rushed past the prostrate
form.

Certain of waylaying me, the Scots were dodging about the gate; but by
running in the shadow of the ware