en his life go suddenly to
pieces. He stood there dumb, his face working painfully, and then, as
the dog-team broke into the circle of the firelight, he fell back into
his seat by the fire in utter collapse, his face hidden in his hands.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE TRAIL TO PARADISE

When Ainley lifted a white, tortured face, it was to find the man whom
he had used as a tool, and whom, having used, he had tried to kill,
seated by the fire, staring at him with his evil eyes full of hate. The
others also sat watching him, all except Helen who had withdrawn to the
shadow of the wood, and was walking restlessly to and fro, unable to
witness further the downfall of a man whom she had known so well. For a
moment there was silence, then Anderton spoke.

"Would you like to hear Chigmok's story, Ainley?"

"There is no need that I should," answered Ainley with a bitter,
hopeless laugh. "I can guess it fairly well."

The mounted policeman was silent for a little time, then he remarked:
"The implications of his story are rather serious for you, Ainley."

"Oh, I know it, don't I?"

"Then you admit----"

"I admit nothing! I reserve my defence--that's the proper legal thing
to do, isn't it?"

"It is the wise thing, anyway," said Anderton.

"The wise thing," again the bitter mirthless laugh sounded. "When did I
ever do the wise thing? I suppose I may consider myself under arrest."

"Detained on suspicion," admitted the policeman. "I think I must
trouble you for your pistol and hunting-knife."

Once more Ainley laughed his bitter laugh, and unbuckling his belt
threw it to the policeman. "It isn't often you arrest an old chum," he
said.

"No!" agreed Anderton, "thank heaven! But you understand, Ainley, I've
no option. If you were my own brother it would be the same. The oath of
service is a very exacting one--'without fear or favour or affection of
or toward any person. So help me God!' A man can't----"

"Oh, you needn't apologize, Anderton, I recognize the situation well
enough. Don't mind if I lapse into silence do you? There are some
letters I want to write."

He unbuttoned his furs and taking out a pocket-book and pencil began to
write. Jean Benard, having fed his dogs, began to prepare a meal for
himself. Anderton sat by the fire, staring into the flames, reflecting
on the irony of fate that had selected him of all men in the Mounted
Service to be the one to arrest his whilom fellow-student. Stane had
turned away