Big Lena shook the man roughly by way of emphasis, and MacNair smiled as he noted the foolish grin with which LeFroy submitted to the inevitable.  For years he had known LeFroy as a bad man, second only to Lapierre in cunning and brutal cruelty; and to see him now, cowering under the domination of his future spouse, was to MacNair the height of the ridiculous—­but MacNair was unmarried.

“All right,” he growled, and LeFroy’s relief at the happy termination of the interview was plainly written upon his features, for this meeting had not been of his own seeking.  The memory of the shots which had taken off two of his companions that night on Snare Lake, was still fresh, and in his desire to avoid a meeting with MacNair he had sought refuge in the kitchen.  Whereupon Big Lena had taken matters into her own hands and literally dragged him into MacNair’s presence, replying to his terrified protest that if MacNair was going to kill him, he was going to kill and he might as well have it over with.

Thus it was that the relieved LeFroy leaped with alacrity to obey when, a moment later, MacNair ordered him to the storehouse to break out the necessary provisions for a ten-days’ journey for all his Indians.  So well did the half-breed execute the order that upon MacNair’s arrival at the store-house he found LeFroy not only supplying provisions with a lavish hand, but taking huge delight in passing out to the waiting Indians Lapierre’s Mauser rifles and ammunition.

When MacNair, with his Indians, reached Snare Lake, it was to find that Pierre Lapierre had taken himself and his outlaws to the Lac du Mort rendezvous.  Whereupon he immediately despatched thirty Indians back to LeFroy for the supplies necessary to follow Lapierre to his stronghold.  Awaiting the return of the supply train, MacNair employed his remaining Indians in getting out logs for the rebuilding of his fort, and he smiled grimly as his eyes roved over the dumps—­the rich dumps which represented two months’ well-directed labour of a gang of a hundred men.

As Chloe Elliston sat in the little living-room and listened to the impassioned words of Lapierre, the man’s chance of winning her was far better than at any time in the whole course of their acquaintance.  Without in the least realizing it, the girl had all along held a certain regard for MacNair—­a regard that was hard to explain, and that the girl herself would have been the first to disavow.  She hated him!  And yet—­she was forced to admit even to herself, the man fascinated her.  But never until the moment of the realization of his true character, as forced upon her by the action and words of the Louchoux girl, had she entertained the slightest suspicion that she loved him.  And with the discovery had come a sense of shame and humiliation that had all but broken her spirit.