the worse for the encounter, whilst Anderton was
admonishing the half-breed.

"You're a nice lot, Chigmok. Winged as you are, I thought you were
quite safe. Now you force me to tie you up, savvy?"

He promptly proceeded to do so, whilst Ainley seated himself anew and
looked up at Stane. "Thank you, Stane! The warning was more than I
deserved from you!" Then he laughed bitterly. "The poor devil isn't to
be blamed. I have merited what he meant to do, and you know it might
have been the better way--for me."

Stane looked at him not knowing what to reply. There was something
about Ainley that moved him to sudden pity. He looked like a man who
had reached the end of hope and life, and his words were those of a man
viewing his own end as a matter of no moment. "I'm sorry, Ainley!" said
Stane awkwardly.

"So am I! But what's the use? There's no going back in life; a man can
only go forward or----"

"Or what?" asked Stane.

"Or go out!" answered the other grimly.

"You are thinking of----"

"Better for you not to know, Stane. I'm going to do the straight thing
for once in my life, as you will discover presently. Don't you worry
about me. I am plumb at the end of things and I know it. But don't
communicate any suspicions you may happen to have to Anderton. He has
set up that precious duty of his as a fetish, worships it, as you
heard. Think of Dandy Anderton of the old days on his knees at the
shrine of duty!" He gave a little laugh, and then continued, "But I
don't want to be offered on his altar, and I won't be. You can bank on
that!" He broke off and looked towards Helen, hovering on the edge of
the shadows. "If you've any sense, Stane, you'll go and persuade Helen
to lie down and rest, she must be worn out by now!"

Stane nodded and turned away, and after a little more walking to and
fro, Helen sought the tent, whilst Stane, after a word or two with
Anderton and Jean Benard, rolled himself in his sleeping furs, though
with little hope of sleep. He lay awake some time and frequently opened
his eyes to see Ainley still bent over his pocket-book, but presently
drowsiness came over him. The last time his eyes alighted on Ainley the
latter had ceased to write and was sitting staring into the fire with
sombre eyes. Then sleep overtook him completely.

He awoke in the grey dawn with Anderton's voice in his ears, and with a
powdery snow driving into his eyes.

"What----"

"Ainley's gone. I left one of the Indians to