“You can’t have him, Durant,” replied Challoner, trying hard to make himself appear at ease in a situation that sent a chill up his back.  As he spoke he was making up his mind why Grouse Piet had come with Durant.  They were giants, both of them:  more than that—­monsters.  Instinctively he had faced them with the small table between them.  “I’m sorry I lost my temper out there,” he continued.  “I shouldn’t have struck you, Durant.  It wasn’t your fault—­and I apologize.  But the dog is mine.  I lost him over in the Jackson’s Knee country, and if Jacques Le Beau caught him in a trap, and sold him to you, he sold a dog that didn’t belong to him.  I’m willing to pay you back what you gave for him, just to be fair.  How much was it?”

Grouse Piet had risen to his feet.  Durant came to the opposite edge of the table, and leaned over it.  Challoner wondered how a single blow had knocked him down.

“Non, he is not for sale.”  Durant’s voice was low; so low that it seemed to choke him to get it out.  It was filled with a repressed hatred.  Challoner saw the great cords of his knotted hands bulging under the skin as he gripped the edge of the table.  “M’sieu, we have come for that dog.  Will you let us take him?”

“I will pay you back what you gave for him, Durant.  I will add to the price.”

“Non.  He is mine.  Will you give him back—­now?”

“No!”

Scarcely was the word out of his mouth when Durant flung his whole weight and strength against the table.  Challoner had not expected the move—­just yet.  With a bellow of rage and hatred Durant was upon him, and under the weight of the giant he crashed to the floor.  With them went the table and lamp.  There was a vivid splutter of flame and the cabin was in darkness, except where the moon-light flooded through the one window.  Challoner had looked for something different.  He had expected Durant to threaten before he acted, and, sizing up the two of them, he had decided to reach the edge of his bunk during the discussion.  Under the pillow was his revolver.  It was too late now.  Durant was on him, fumbling in the darkness for his throat, and as he flung one arm upward to get a hook around the Frenchman’s neck he heard Grouse Piet throw the table back.  The next instant they were rolling in the moonlight on the floor, and Challoner caught a glimpse of Grouse Piet’s huge bulk bending over them.  Durant’s head was twisted under his arm, but one of the giant’s hands had reached his throat.  The halfbreed saw this, and he cried out something in a guttural voice.  With a tremendous effort Challoner rolled himself and his adversary out of the patch of light into darkness again.  Durant’s thick neck cracked.  Again Grouse Piet called out in that guttural, questioning voice.  Challoner put every ounce of his energy into the crook of his arm, and Durant did not answer.