, fighting
like a trapped wolverine; the no less infuriated Marcel resolved now to
rid Whale River forever of this vermin.

It was not long before the bands of steel cable which swathed the arms,
shoulders and back of Jean Marcel overcame the delirious strength of the
crazed half-breed, and Lelac was forced down and held on his back. Then
like the jaws of a wolf-trap, the fingers of Marcel's right hand shut on
the throat of the under man. The bloodshot eyes of Lelac bulged from
their sockets. Blood filled the distorted face. The mouth gaped for air,
barred by the vise on his throat. In a last feeble effort to free
himself, a helpless hand clawed limply at Marcel's wrist--then he
relaxed, unconscious, on the beach.

Getting to his feet, Jean looked for the others, to see the younger
brother still nursing his stomach, when an oath sounded in his ears and,
struck from the rear, a sharp twinge bit through his shoulder, as he
stumbled forward.

Leaping away from a second lunge, and drawing his knife with his left
hand, Marcel slashed wildly, driving before him the half-breed whom the
water had revived. Then, as he fought to reach him, the shape of his
retreating enemy slowly faded from Marcel's vision; his strength ebbed;
the knife slipped from his fingers as darkness shut down upon him, and
he reeled senseless to the stones.

With a snarl of triumph, Lelac, crouched on the defensive, sprang to the
crumpled figure, a hand raised to drive home the knife-thrust, when
something sang shrilly through the air. The upraised arm fell. With a
groan, the half-breed pitched on his face, the slender shaft of a
seal-spear quivering in his back.

Close by, a kayak silently slid to the shore and a squat Husky, his
broad face knotted with fear, ran to the unconscious Marcel. Swiftly
cutting the shirt from the Frenchman's back, he was staunching the flow
of blood from the knife wound, when people from the post clearing,
headed by Jules Duroc, reached the beach.

"By Gar! Jean Marcel!" gasped Jules recognizing his friend. "He ees cut
bad?"

The Husky shook his head. "He not kill."

Staring at the dead man transfixed by the spear and his unconscious
father, Jules roared: "De t'ief, dey try _revanche_ on Jean Marcel!"

Stripping off his own shirt, Jules bandaged Marcel's shoulder. As he
worked, one thing he told himself. Had they killed Marcel, the Lelacs
would not have gone south for trial. Father and son would never have
left the