His blood began to boil as he thought of it.  Now, as he had time and silence in which to look back on what had happened, he was enraged at the pictures that flashed one after another before him.  He had allowed himself to be used as nothing more than a pawn in a strange and mysterious game.  It was not through his efforts alone that he had been saved in the fight on the Saskatchewan trail.  Blindly he had walked into the trap at the coyote.  Still more blindly he had allowed himself to be led into the ambush at the Wekusko camp.  And more like a child than a man he had submitted himself to Jean Croisset!

He stamped back and forth across the room, smoking viciously, and his face grew red with the thoughts that were stirring venom within him.  He placed no weight on circumstances; in these moments he found no excuse for himself.  In no situation had he displayed the white feather, at no time had he felt a thrill of fear.  His courage and recklessness had terrified Meleese, had astonished Croisset.  And yet—­what had he done?  From the beginning—­from the moment he first placed his foot in the Chinese cafe—­his enemies had held the whip-hand.  He had been compelled to play a passive part.  Up to the point of the ambush on the Wekusko trail he might have found some vindication for himself.  But this experience with Jean Croisset—­it was enough to madden him, now that he was alone, to think about it.  Why had he not taken advantage of Jean, as Jackpine and the Frenchman had taken advantage of him?

He saw now what he might have done.  Somewhere, not very far back, the sledge carrying Meleese and Jackpine had turned into the unknown.  They two were alone.  Why had he not made Croisset a prisoner, instead of allowing himself to be caged up like a weakling?  He swore aloud as there dawned on him more and more a realization of the opportunity he had lost.  At the point of a gun he could have forced Croisset to overtake the other sledge.  He could have surprised Jackpine, as they had surprised him on the trail.  And then?  He smiled, but there was no humor in the smile.  He at least would have held the whip-hand.  And what would Meleese have done?

He asked himself question after question, answering them quickly and decisively in the same breath.  Meleese loved him.  He would have staked his life on that.  His blood leaped as he felt again the thrill of her kisses when she had come to him as he lay bound and gagged beside the trail.  She had taken his head in her arms, and through the grief of her face he had seen shining the light of a great love that had glorified it for all time for him.  She loved him!  And he had let her slip away from him, had weakly surrendered himself at a moment when everything that he had dreamed of might have been within his grasp.  With Jackpine and Croisset in his power—­