attle his greater physical strength and advantage of fifty pounds in
weight would have won for Philip. But the forest man's fighting is
filled with the elusive ermine's trickery and the lithe quickness of
the big, fur-padded cat of the trap-lines.

The half-breed made no effort to evade Philip's assault. He met the
shock of attack fairly, and went down with him. But this time his back
was to the watchful semicircle of dogs, and with a sharp, piercing
command he pitched back among them, dragging Philip with him. Too late
Philip realized what the cry meant. He tried to fling himself out of
reach of the threatening fangs, and freed one hand to reach for his
pistol. This saved him from the dogs, but gave the half-breed his
opportunity. Again he was on his feet, the butt of his dog whip in his
hand. As the moonlight glinted on the barrel of the automatic, he
brought the whip down with a crash on Philip's head--and then again and
again, and Philip pitched backward into the snow.

He was not wholly unconscious. He knew that as soon as he had fallen
the half-breed had turned again to the dogs. He could hear him as he
straightened out the traces. In a subconscious sort of way, Philip
wondered why he did not take advantage of his opportunity and finish
what he had failed to do with the bullet through the window. Philip
heard him run back for his gun, and tried to struggle to his knees.
Instead of the shot he half expected there came the low
"Hoosh--hoosh--marche!" of the forest man's voice. Dogs and sledge
moved. He fought himself up and swayed on his knees, staring after the
retreating shadows. He saw his automatic in the snow and crawled to it.
It was another minute before he could stand on his feet, and then he
was dizzy. He staggered to a tree and for a space leaned against it.

It was some minutes before he was steady enough to walk, and by that
time he knew that it would be futile to pursue the half-breed and his
swift-footed dogs, weakened and half dressed as he was. Slowly he
returned to Adare House, cursing himself for not having used his pistol
to compel Jean's surrender. He acknowledged that he had been a fool,
and that he had deserved what he got. The hall was still empty when he
reentered it. His adventure had roused no one, and with a feeling of
relief he went to his room.

If the walls had fallen about his ears he could not have received a
greater shock than when he entered through the door.

Seated in a chair