She paced angrily up and down the room, and kicked viciously at the little ball of paper that was Lapierre’s note.  “He couldn’t browbeat anything!” she exclaimed.  “He’s—­he’s—­sometimes, I think, he’s almost sneaking, with his bland, courtly manners, and his suave tongue.  Oh, how I could hate that man!  And how I—­” she stopped suddenly, and with clenched fists fixed her gaze upon the portrait of Tiger Elliston, and as she looked the thin features that returned her stare seemed to resolve into the rugged outlines of the face of Bob MacNair.

“He’s big and strong, and he’s not afraid,” she murmured, and started nervously at the knock with which Big Lena announced supper.

When Chloe appeared at the table five minutes later she was quite her usual self.  She even laughed at Harriet Penny’s horrified narrative of the fact that she had discovered several Indians in the act of affixing runners to the collapsible bathtubs in anticipation of the coming snow.

Chloe spent an almost sleepless night, and it was with a feeling of distinct relief that she arose to find Lapierre upon the veranda.  She noted a certain intense eagerness in the quarter-breed’s voice as he greeted her.

“Ah, Miss Elliston!” he cried, seizing both her hands.  “It seems that during my brief absence you have accomplished wonders!  May I ask how you managed to bring about the downfall of the brute of the North, and at the same time win his Indians to your school?”

Under the enthusiasm of his words the girl’s heart once more quickened with the sense of victory.  She withdrew her hands from his clasp and gave a brief account of all that had happened since their parting on Snare Lake.

“Wonderful,” breathed Lapierre at the conclusion of the recital.  “And you are sure he was duly charged with the murder of the two Indians?”

Chloe nodded.  “Yes, indeed I am sure!” she exclaimed.  “The officer, Corporal Ripley, tried to get me to put off this charge until his other trial came up at the spring assizes.  He said MacNair could give bail and secure his liberty on the liquor charges, and thus return to the North—­and to his Indians.”

Lapierre nodded eagerly.  “Ah, did I not tell you, Miss Elliston, that the men of the Mounted are with him heart and soul?  He owns them!  You have done well not to withdraw the charge of murder.”

“I offered to furnish him with an escort of Indians, but he refused them.  I don’t see how in the world he can expect to take MacNair to jail.  He’s a mere boy.”

Lapierre laughed.  “He’ll take him to jail all right, you may rest assured as to that.  He will not dare to allow him to escape, nor will MacNair try to escape.  We have nothing to fear now until the trial.  It is extremely doubtful if we can make the murder charge stick, but it will serve to hold him during the winter, and I have no doubt when his case comes up in the spring we will be able to produce evidence that will insure conviction on the whiskey charges, which will mean at least a year or two in jail and the exaction of a heavy fine.