She asked the question.  But the answer was already with her.  Her companion remained silent.  She did not repeat her question.

Then she heard Baptiste’s raucous tones as he issued his commands.

“Loose his hands!”

Jacky watched Lablache’s face in the dim starlight.  It was ghastly.  The whole figure of the man seemed to have shrunk.  The wretched man stood free, and yet more surely a prisoner than any criminal in a condemned cell.

The uncertain light of the stars showed only the dark expanse of the mire upon all sides.  In the distance, ahead, the mountains were vaguely outlined against the sky; behind and around, nothing but that awful death-trap.  Jacky had lived all her life beside the muskeg, but never, until that moment, had she realized the awful terror of its presence.

Now Baptiste again commanded.

“Prepare for death.”

It seemed to the listening girl that a devilish tone of exultation rang in his words.  She roused herself from her fascinated attention.  She was about to urge her horse forward.  But a thin, powerful hand reached out and gripped her by the arm.  It was “Lord” Bill.  His hoarse whisper sung in her ears.

“Your own words—­Leave well alone.”

And she allowed her horse to stand.

Now she leaned forward in her saddle and rested her elbows upon the horn in front of her.  Again she heard Baptiste speak.  He seemed to be in sole command.

“We’ll give yer a chance fur yer life—­”

Again the fiendish laugh underlaid the words.

“It’s a chance of a dog—­a yellow dog,” he pursued.  Jacky shuddered.  “But such a chance is too good fur yer likes.  Look—­look, those hills.  See the three tall peaks—­yes, those three, taller than the rest.  One straight in front; one to the right, an’ one away to the left.  Guess this path divides right hyar—­in three, an’ each path heads for one of those peaks.  Say, jest one trail crosses the keg—­one.  Savee?  The others end sudden, and then—­the keg.”

The full horror of the man’s meaning now became plain to the girl.  She heaved a great gasp, and turned to Bill.  Her lover signed a warning.  She turned again to the scene before her.

“Now, see hyar, you scum,” Baptiste went on.  “This is yer chance.  Choose yer path and foller it.  Guess yer can’t see it no more than yer ken see this one we’re on, but you’ve got the lay of it.  Guess you’ll travel the path yer choose to—­the end.  If yer don’t move—­an’ move mighty slippy—­you’ll be dumped headlong into the muck.  Ef yer git on to the right path an’ cross the keg safe, yer ken sling off wi’ a whole skin.  Guess you’ll fin’ it a ticklish job—­mebbe you’ll git through.  But I’ve a notion yer won’t.  Now, take yer dog’s chance, an’ remember, its death if yer don’t, anyway.”

The man ceased speaking.  Jacky saw Lablache shake his great head.  Then something made him look at the mountains beyond.  There were the three dimly-outlined peaks.  They were clear enough to guide him.  Jacky, watching, saw the expression of his face change.  It was as though a flicker of hope had risen within him.  Then she saw him turn and eye Baptiste.  He seemed to read in that cruel, dark face a vengeful purpose.  He seemed to scent a trick.  Presently he turned again to the hills.