MacNair ignored her words, and as his eyes met hers squarely, they betrayed not the slightest emotion.  The pallid features showed tense and drawn in the growing firelight.  His gaze projected past her to the lean face of Tiger Elliston.

“You are a fighter at heart,” he said slowly addressing the girl.  “You are his flesh and blood and he was a fighter.  He won to victory over the bodies of his enemies.  In his eyes I can see it.”

“He was no coward!” flashed the girl.  “He never won to victory over the bodies of his friends!” With an effort the man reached for his clothing, which hung from a peg near the head of the bed.

“Where are you going?” cried the girl sharply.

“I am going,” MacNair answered gravely, looking straight into her eyes, “to take my Indians back to Snare Lake.”

“They will kill you!” she cried impulsively.

“They will not!” MacNair smiled; “but if they do, you will be glad.  Did you not say——­”

The girl faced swiftly away, and at the same moment the Indian at the window staggered backward, dropping his rifle and cursing horribly in the only English he knew, as he clutched frantically at his shoulder.  Chloe turned.  MacNair was lacing his boots.  He raised himself weakly to his feet, swaying uncertainly, with his hand pressed against his chest, and laughed harshly into the pain-twisted features of the Indian.

“When the last of yon dogs gets his bullet, I can leave this place in safety.”

“What do you mean?” cried the girl, her eyes blazing.

“I mean,” rasped the man, “that you are a fool!  You have listened to Lapierre and you have easily become his dupe.  There is no Indian in his employ who would not kill me.  They have had their orders.  Have you stopped to reflect that the brave Lapierre did not himself remain to stem this attack?  To protect me from my Indians?”

The sneer in MacNair’s voice was not lost upon the girl, who drew herself up haughtily.

“Mr. Lapierre,” she answered, “could hardly be charged with anticipating this attack, nor could he be blamed for not altering his plans to fight your battles.”

MacNair laughed.  “The idea of Lapierre fighting my battles is, indeed, unique.  And you may be sure that Lapierre will not fight his own battles—­as long as he can find others to fight them for him.  Miss Elliston, this attack was anticipated.  Lapierre knew to a certainty that when my Indians read the signs, and learned what had happened there on the shore of Snare Lake, their vengeance would not be delayed.”  He looked straight into the eyes of the girl.  “Did you arm your Indians?”

“I did not!” answered Chloe.  “I brought no guns.”

“Then where did your Indians get their rifles?”

“Well, really, Mr. MacNair, I cannot tell you.  Possibly at the same place your Indians got theirs.  The Indians, who have come to me here are hunters and trappers.  Is it so extraordinary that men who are hunters should own guns?”