“You say Meleese—­is there?” he questioned hesitatingly.  “And he—­who is that man, Croisset?”

Jean shrugged his shoulders and drew himself back into the bush, turning leisurely toward the old cabin.

“Non, M’seur, I will not tell you that,” he protested.  “I have brought you to this place.  I have pointed out to you the stair that leads to the room where you will find Meleese.  You may cut me into ribbons for the ravens, but I will tell you no more!”

Again the threatening fire leaped into Howland’s eyes.

“I will trouble you to put your hands behind your back, Croisset,” he commanded.  “I am going to return a certain compliment of yours by tying your hands with this piece of babeesh, which you used on me.  After that—­”

“And after that, M’seur—­” urged Jean, with a touch of the old taunt in his voice, and stopping with his back to the engineer and his hands behind him.  “After that?”

“You will tell me all that I want to know,” finished Howland, tightening the thong about his wrists.

He led the way then to the cabin.  The door was closed, but opened readily as he put his weight against it.  The single room was lighted by a window through which a mass of snow had drifted, and contained nothing more than a rude table built against one of the log walls, three supply boxes that had evidently been employed as stools, and a cracked and rust-eaten sheet-iron stove that had from all appearances long passed into disuse.  He motioned the Frenchman to a seat at one end of the table.  Without a word he then went outside, securely toggled the leading dog, and returning, closed the door and seated himself at the end of the table opposite Jean.

The light from the open window fell full on Croisset’s dark face and shone in a silvery streak along the top of Howland’s revolver as the muzzle of it rested casually on a line with the other’s breast.  There was a menacing click as the engineer drew back the hammer.

“Now, my dear Jean, we’re ready to begin the real game,” he explained.  “Here we are, high and dry, and down there—­just far enough away to be out of hearing of this revolver when I shoot—­are those we’re going to play against.  So far I’ve been completely in the dark.  I know of no reason why I shouldn’t go down there openly and be welcomed and given a good supper.  And yet at the same time I know that my life wouldn’t be worth a tinker’s damn if I did go down.  You can clear up the whole business, and that’s what you’re going to do.  When I understand why I am scheduled to be murdered on sight I won’t be handicapped as I now am.  So go ahead and spiel.  If you don’t, I’ll blow your head off.”

Jean sat unflinching, his lips drawn tightly, his head set square and defiant.

“You may shoot, M’seur,” he said quietly.  “I have sworn on a cross of the Virgin to tell you no more than I have.  You could not torture me into revealing what you ask.”