“Now, Miss Elliston, for the good of those Indians on Snare Lake I want you to withdraw the charge of murder.  The other offences are bailable ones, and in my judgment he should be allowed to return to his Indians.  Then, when his trial comes up at the spring assizes, the charge of murder can be placed against him.  I’ll bet a year’s pay, MacNair isn’t to blame.  In the meantime we will get busy and comb the barrens for the real criminals.  I’ve got a hunch.  And you can take my word that justice shall be done, no matter where the blow falls.”

Suddenly, through Chloe’s mind flashed the memory of what Lapierre had told her of the Mounted.  She arose to her feet and, drawing herself up haughtily, glared into the face of the officer.  When she spoke, her voice rang hard with scorn.

“It is very evident that you don’t want to arrest MacNair.  I have heard that he is a law unto himself—­that he would defy arrest—­that he has the Mounted subsidized.  I did not believe it at the time.  I regarded it merely as the exaggerated statement of a man who justly hates him.  But it seems this man was right.  You need not trouble yourself about MacNair’s Indians.  I will stand sponsor for their welfare.  They are my Indians now.  I warn you that the day of MacNair is past.  I refuse to withdraw a single word of my charges against him, and you will either arrest him, or I shall go straight to Ottawa.  And I shall never rest until I have blazoned before the world the whole truth about your rotten system!  What will Canada say, when she learns that the Mounted—­the men who have been held up before all the world as models of bravery, efficiency, and honour—­are as crooked and grafting as—­as the police of New York?”

Corporal Ripley’s face showed red through the tan, and he started to his feet with an exclamation of anger.  “Hold on, Corporal.”  The voice of MacNair was the quiet voice with which one sooths a petulant child.  He remained seated and pushed the Stetson toward the back of his head.  “She really believes it.  Don’t hold it against her.  It is not her fault.  When the smoke has cleared away and she gets her bearings, we’re all going to like her.  In fact, I’m thinking that the time is coming when the only one who will hate her will be herself.  I like her now; though she is not what you’d call my friend.  I mean—­not yet.”

Corporal Ripley gazed in astonishment at MacNair and then very frigidly he turned to Chloe.  “Then the charge of murder stands?”

“Yes, it does,” answered the girl.  “If he were allowed to go free now there would be three murders instead of two by the time of the spring assizes or whatever you call them, for he is even now upon the trail of a man he has threatened to kill.  I can give you his exact words.  He said:  ’I have taken the man-trail . . . and at the end of that trail will lie a dead man—­myself or Pierre Lapierre!’”

“Lapierre!” exclaimed the officer.  “What has he got to do with it?” He turned to MacNair as if expecting an answer.  But MacNair remained silent.  “Why don’t you charge Lapierre with the crimes you told me he was guilty of?” taunted the girl.  Again she saw that baffling twinkle in the grey eyes of the man.  Then the eyes hardened.