close to the table, looking at him calmly as he
entered, was Jean Jacques Croisset!

CHAPTER TWELVE

Unable to believe that what he saw was not an illusion, Philip stood
and stared at the half-breed. No word fell from his lips. He did not
move. And Jean met his eyes calmly, without betraying a tremor of
excitement or of fear. In another moment Philip's hand went to his
pistol. As he half drew it his confused brain saw other things which
made him gasp with new wonder.

Croisset showed no signs of the fight in the forest which had occurred
not more than ten minutes before. He was wearing a pair of laced
Hudson's Bay boots. In the struggle in the snow Philip's hand had once
gripped his enemy's foot, and he knew that he had worn moccasins. And
Jean was not winded. He was breathing easily. And now Philip saw that
behind the calmness in his eyes there was a tense and anxious inquiry.
Slowly the truth broke upon him. It could not have been Jean with whom
he had fought in the edge of the forest! He advanced a step or two
toward the half-breed, his hand still resting uncertainly on his
pistol. Not until then did Jean speak, and there was no pretence in his
voice:

"The Virgin be praised, you are not badly hurt, M'sieur?" he exclaimed,
rising. "There is a little blood on your face. Did the glass cut you?"

"No," said Philip. "I overtook him in the edge of the forest."

Not for an instant had his eyes left Croisset. Now he saw him start.
His dark face took on a strange pallor. He leaned forward, and his
breath came in a quick gasp.

"The result?" he demanded. "Did you kill him?"

"He escaped."

The tense lines on Croisset's face relaxed. Philip turned and bolted
the door.

"Sit down, Croisset," he commanded. "You and I are going to square
things up in this room to-night. It is quite natural that you should be
glad he escaped. Perhaps if you had fired the shot in place of putting
the affair into the hands of a hired murderer the work would have been
better done. Sit down!"

Something like a smile flickered across Jean's face as he reseated
himself. There was in it no suggestion of bravado or of defiance. It
was rather the facial expression of one who was looking beyond Philip's
set jaws, and seeing other things--the betrayal which comes at times
when one has suffered quietly for another. It was a look which made
Philip uneasy as he seated himself opposite the half-breed, and made
him ashamed of the fact that