The half-breed made no effort to evade Philip’s assault.  He met the shock of attack fairly, and went down with him.  But this time his back was to the watchful semicircle of dogs, and with a sharp, piercing command he pitched back among them, dragging Philip with him.  Too late Philip realized what the cry meant.  He tried to fling himself out of reach of the threatening fangs, and freed one hand to reach for his pistol.  This saved him from the dogs, but gave the half-breed his opportunity.  Again he was on his feet, the butt of his dog whip in his hand.  As the moonlight glinted on the barrel of the automatic, he brought the whip down with a crash on Philip’s head—­and then again and again, and Philip pitched backward into the snow.

He was not wholly unconscious.  He knew that as soon as he had fallen the half-breed had turned again to the dogs.  He could hear him as he straightened out the traces.  In a subconscious sort of way, Philip wondered why he did not take advantage of his opportunity and finish what he had failed to do with the bullet through the window.  Philip heard him run back for his gun, and tried to struggle to his knees.  Instead of the shot he half expected there came the low “Hoosh—­hoosh—­marche!” of the forest man’s voice.  Dogs and sledge moved.  He fought himself up and swayed on his knees, staring after the retreating shadows.  He saw his automatic in the snow and crawled to it.  It was another minute before he could stand on his feet, and then he was dizzy.  He staggered to a tree and for a space leaned against it.

It was some minutes before he was steady enough to walk, and by that time he knew that it would be futile to pursue the half-breed and his swift-footed dogs, weakened and half dressed as he was.  Slowly he returned to Adare House, cursing himself for not having used his pistol to compel Jean’s surrender.  He acknowledged that he had been a fool, and that he had deserved what he got.  The hall was still empty when he reentered it.  His adventure had roused no one, and with a feeling of relief he went to his room.

If the walls had fallen about his ears he could not have received a greater shock than when he entered through the door.

Seated in a chair close to the table, looking at him calmly as he entered, was Jean Jacques Croisset!

CHAPTER TWELVE

Unable to believe that what he saw was not an illusion, Philip stood and stared at the half-breed.  No word fell from his lips.  He did not move.  And Jean met his eyes calmly, without betraying a tremor of excitement or of fear.  In another moment Philip’s hand went to his pistol.  As he half drew it his confused brain saw other things which made him gasp with new wonder.