your ugly face. Here's where I spoil it!"

She raised the knife. Her eyes blazed. Stonor really thought his hour
had come. He scrambled to his feet. Clare, with a scream, ran between
them, and flung her arms around Stonor's neck.

"You beast!" she cried over her shoulder to the woman. "A bound man!
You'll have to strike him through me!"

The woman threw back her head and uttered a great, coarse laugh. She
coolly returned the knife to her moccasin. "You see how much she likes
you," she said to Imbrie.

Clare, seeing how she had been tricked, unwound her arms from Stonor's
neck, and covered her face. It seemed too cruel that all their pains the
livelong day should go for nothing in a moment. Imbrie was scowling at
them hatefully.

"Don't distress yourself," whispered Stonor. "It couldn't be helped. We
gained a whole day by it anyway. I'll think of something else for
to-morrow."

"Keep clear of him!" cried Imbrie. "Go to your tent!"

"I won't!" Clare said.

"Better go!" whispered Stonor. "I am safe for the present."

She went slowly to her tent and disappeared.

Stonor sat down again. Across the fire Imbrie scowled and pulled at his
lip. The breed woman, returning to her place, had the good sense to hold
her tongue.

After a long while Imbrie said sullenly in the Indian tongue: "Well,
you've got your way. You can kill him to-morrow."

Stonor was a brave man, but a chill struck to his breast.

"I kill him?" said the woman. "Why have I got to do all the dirty work?"

"What do you care? You've already tried twice."

"Why don't you kill him yourself?"

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Maybe not. With his hands tied."

Imbrie's fist clenched. "Do you want me to beat you?"

The woman shrugged.

"You know very well why I don't want to do it," Imbrie went on. "It's
nothing to you if the girl hates you."

"Oh, that's why, eh? You're scared she'd turn from bloody hands! She's
made a fool of you, all right!"

"Never mind that. You do it to-morrow."

"Why not to-night?"

"I won't have it done in her sight. To-morrow morning when we spell you
make some excuse to take him into the bush. There you shoot him or stick
a knife in his back. I don't care so long as you make a job of it. You
come back alone and make a story of how he tried to run away, see? Then
I'll beat you----"

"Beat me!" she cried indignantly.

"Fool! I won't hurt you. I'll just act rough to you for a while, till
she gets better."

"That gi