s recorded of old,
is as cruel as the grave, and as the hot flame of it grew in her heart,
she almost hated the girl who was the occasion of it.

As a matter of sober fact, Stane was thinking little of Miskodeed
herself, but much of the information she had brought. Whilst he kept
his ears open for any unusual sounds outside the cabin, his mind was
trying to probe the mystery behind the attack that, as he was sure, was
preparing. Who was the inspirer of it, and why should his death be
designed, whilst his companion must be spared? Miskodeed had spoken of
the price that was to be paid for the attack--rifles and spirit, tea,
molasses and blankets. The nature of the bribe was such as would tempt
any tribe in the North and was also such as implied a white man in the
background. But who was the white man who so chose his instruments for
a deed from which apparently he himself shrank? The question perplexed
him, and a deep furrow manifested itself between his eyes as he strove
to answer it. Ainley? He dallied with the thought for a little time,
and then dismissed it. Ainley was afraid of him and shrank from meeting
him, but he would hardly go to such lengths as Miskodeed's statement
implied; nor would he involve Helen Yardely's life in the extreme risk
incidental to an attack in force on the cabin. It was unthinkable!

His mind sought other explanations. Was there some other man, some
white man who had seen Helen and by this means hoped to secure her for
himself? The thought was preposterous. Then a new thought leaped up.
The reward Sir James was offering for his niece's recovery! Had some
man his eye on that--some unscrupulous adventurer, who fearing possibly
that he himself might claim a share in it, proposed to get rid of him
that there might be no division of the spoil? That seemed barely
feasible, and----

His thought suffered a sudden interruption. From outside came the
crunch of moccasined feet on the frozen snow. He started to his feet,
and took up his rifle, glancing quickly at the girl as he did so. There
was a flush of excitement in her face, but the eyes that met his
chilled him with their unresponsiveness. He held out his machine
pistol.

"You had better have this, for the present, Miss Yardely, for I believe
the attack is coming. But don't use it unless I tell you."

She took the pistol without a word, and the austerity of her manner as
she did so, even in that moment, set him wondering what was the cause
o