!" begged Francette at his side, but he put out a
commanding hand and ceased to breathe.

"Hold!" said the tall young woman at last, and her voice cut cold and
clear in the sun-filled morning. "No more! You have whipped the dog
enough."

The red face of the trapper flamed into purple and his lips opened for
an oath. Quick as the heat lightning that flutters on the waters of
Winipigoos in the hot summers the cruel club came down. McElroy heard
its dull impact, and the husky crumpled like a broken reed.

With stern face the factor started forward, while the little maid
covered her pretty eyes and whimpered.

But quicker than his stride retribution leaped to meet DesCaut.

He saw the woman's arm shoot out and her strong hand, smooth and tawny
as finest tanned buckskin, double itself hard and leap in where the jaw
turns downward into the curve of the throat.

The stroke of a man it was, clean and sharp and well delivered, and
DesCaut, catching his heel on a buried stone's sharp jut, went backward
with his head in the young grass of the sloping shore.

For a moment she stood as it had left her, leaning forward, and there
was a shine of satisfaction in her eyes.

Then as the man essayed to rise there was a mighty laughter from the two
youths on the river bank and the spell was broken.

McElroy went forward.

"DesCaut," he said sharply, and his words cut like the lash of the long
dog-whips, "you deserves death but you have been beaten by a woman. Go,
and boast of your strength. It is sufficient."

DesCaut stood a moment swaying drunkenly with the force of passion
within him, his lips snarling back from his teeth and his eyes measuring
the factor unsteadily then he snatched off the little cap he wore and
hurled it at him.

Turning on his heel he swung down toward the gate and the two voyageurs
now standing and still laughing merrily.

One look at his bloodshot eyes sobered their mirth, and Pierre Garcon
reached involuntarily for the knife in his sash.

But Bois DesCaut, savage to silence, swung past them into the fort.

McElroy watched him until he disappeared, fearing he knew not what.

Then he faced the little scene again.

Down on her knees little Francette had lifted the heavy head with its
dull eyes and pitiful hanging tongue, lifted it to her breast, weeping
and smoothing the short ears deaf to her soft words, and sat rocking to
and fro in an ecstasy of grief. Beyond SHE stood, that tall woman, stood