ere," he continued. "I shouldn't have
struck you, Durant. It wasn't your fault--and I apologize. But the dog
is mine. I lost him over in the Jackson's Knee country, and if Jacques
Le Beau caught him in a trap, and sold him to you, he sold a dog that
didn't belong to him. I'm willing to pay you back what you gave for
him, just to be fair. How much was it?"

Grouse Piet had risen to his feet. Durant came to the opposite edge of
the table, and leaned over it. Challoner wondered how a single blow had
knocked him down.

"Non, he is not for sale." Durant's voice was low; so low that it
seemed to choke him to get it out. It was filled with a repressed
hatred. Challoner saw the great cords of his knotted hands bulging
under the skin as he gripped the edge of the table. "M'sieu, we have
come for that dog. Will you let us take him?"

"I will pay you back what you gave for him, Durant. I will add to the
price."

"Non. He is mine. Will you give him back--NOW?"

"No!"

Scarcely was the word out of his mouth when Durant flung his whole
weight and strength against the table. Challoner had not expected the
move--just yet. With a bellow of rage and hatred Durant was upon him,
and under the weight of the giant he crashed to the floor. With them
went the table and lamp. There was a vivid splutter of flame and the
cabin was in darkness, except where the moon-light flooded through the
one window. Challoner had looked for something different. He had
expected Durant to threaten before he acted, and, sizing up the two of
them, he had decided to reach the edge of his bunk during the
discussion. Under the pillow was his revolver. It was too late now.
Durant was on him, fumbling in the darkness for his throat, and as he
flung one arm upward to get a hook around the Frenchman's neck he heard
Grouse Piet throw the table back. The next instant they were rolling in
the moonlight on the floor, and Challoner caught a glimpse of Grouse
Piet's huge bulk bending over them. Durant's head was twisted under his
arm, but one of the giant's hands had reached his throat. The halfbreed
saw this, and he cried out something in a guttural voice. With a
tremendous effort Challoner rolled himself and his adversary out of the
patch of light into darkness again. Durant's thick neck cracked. Again
Grouse Piet called out in that guttural, questioning voice. Challoner
put every ounce of his energy into the crook of his arm, and Durant did
not answer.

Then the w