when ainley lifted a white, tortured face, it was to find the man whom he had used as a tool, and whom, having used, he had tried to kill, seated by the fire, staring at him with his evil eyes full of hate. the others also sat watching him, all except helen who had withdrawn to the shadow of the wood, and was walking restlessly to and fro, unable to witness further the downfall of a man whom she had known so well. for a moment there was silence, then anderton spoke.

"would you like to hear chigmok's story, ainley?"

"there is no need that i should," answered ainley with a bitter, hopeless laugh. "i can guess it fairly well."

the mounted policeman was silent for a little time, then he remarked: "the implications of his story are rather serious for you, ainley."

"oh, i know it, don't i?"

"then you admit——"

"i admit nothing! i reserve my defence—that's the proper legal thing to do, isn't it?"

"it is the wise thing, anyway," said anderton.

"the wise thing," again the bitter mirthless laugh sounded. "when did i ever do the wise thing? i suppose i may consider myself under arrest."

"detained on suspicion," admitted the policeman. "i think i must trouble you for your pistol and hunting-knife."

once more ainley laughed his bitter laugh, and unbuckling his belt threw it to the policeman. "it isn't often you arrest an old chum," he said.

"no!" agreed anderton, "thank heaven! but you understand, ainley, i've no option. if you were my own brother it would be the same. the oath of service is a very exacting one—'without fear or favour or affection of or toward any person. so help me god!' a man can't——"

"oh, you needn't apologize, anderton, i recognize the situation well enough. don't mind if i lapse into silence do you? there are some letters i want to write."

he unbuttoned his furs and taking out a pocket-book and pencil began to write. jean bènard, having fed his dogs, began to prepare a meal for himself. anderton sat by the fire, staring into the flames, reflecting on the irony of fate that had selected him of all men in the mounted service to be the one to arrest his whilom fellow-student. stane had turned away and joined helen, who still paced to and fro in the shadows. her face, as her lover saw, was full of trouble.

"oh!" she whispered. "it is unbearable to watch a man one has known go all to pieces!"

"it is certainly very sad," agreed stane, out of whose heart all hatred suddenly vanished. "i wish that things were not as they are."

"let us try to forget," said helen with a quick glance towards the fire. "tell me what happened when you went out of the cabin last night."

"well," answered her lover falling into step by her side, "when i went out, i thought i was certainly going to my death."

"ah, i knew that was in your mind!... but how did you escape?"

"it was a narrow thing. an indian grappled me, and another man was hurrying towards me with an ax. i could not get away, and a third person appeared suddenly with a knife. i thought the knife was meant for me, but it was not. it was meant for my antagonist, and he went down and just after—my—my—saviour was killed by the second indian, who also struck at me, knocking me senseless."

"who was the person with the knife? someone with jean bènard?"

"no," answered stane slowly, "it was the indian girl, miskodeed."

"miskodeed!" cried helen in utter surprise.

"yes! i did not know it at the time, but we found her afterwards, jean bènard and i. it was a dreadful discovery. jean had come back to his cabin, hoping to marry her, and she had died for me!"

"oh," sobbed helen in a sudden accession of grief. "i would have done as much!"

"i know," answered stane quietly.

"and last night when you were in the wood together, and i heard your voices, i was jealous of that girl; last night and at other times."

"but," said the man, a note of wonder in his voice, "there was no need, helen. you must know that?"

"oh yes, i know it now. but she was very beautiful and gerald ainley had suggested that you—that you——. and i am sure that she loved you. but not more than i, though she died for you!"

"i am very sure of that," answered stane, earnestly, putting his arm about her and trying to comfort her.

helen sobbed convulsively. "i shall always be grateful to her, though i was jealous of her. she saved you—for me—and she was only an indian girl."

"she had a heart of gold," said stane. "she came to warn me and then stayed to do what she did!" both were silent for a long time, the girl thinking of miskodeed in her flashing beauty, the other of jean, bent over the cold face of his dead love, and then helen spoke again.

"but tell me! the attack on the cabin, was that man who captured me—that man chigmok—was he the inspirer of that?"

"i am afraid not!"

"then it was gerald ainley who was to pay the price for me that the half-breed told me of, and that is why he collapsed so utterly when chigmok came along just now?"

"yes," answered stane, simply.

"but why did he shoot down chigmok's party?"

"well, i think it was to get rid of witnesses who might rise up against him. you must remember that he would be under the impression that i was dead—killed in the attack, and that was a crime that might some day have come to light if those men had lived. the pretended rescue was a sufficient excuse for getting rid of the men who knew the instigator, particularly of the half-breed."

"yes," said helen thoughtfully. "an idea of that sort had occurred to me from something that chigmok had said. but how dreadful it is to think that a man can so conspire to—to——"

she broke off without completing her words, and stane nodded.

"there was always a crooked strain in ainley. but it will go hard with him now, for the half-breed will be merciless. he is the man anderton was after when he came to the cabin, and his life is forfeit on another count. he will not spare the man who bribed him to fresh crime, and then dealt treacherously with him."

he paused in his walk and looked back towards the fire where ainley sat writing, with chigmok glowering at him across the fire, whilst anderton sat staring abstractedly into the glowing logs. then a stealthy movement of the half-breed's arrested his attention. the man had thrust his hand into his furs, and as it was withdrawn stane caught sight of something that gleamed in the firelight. in a flash he saw what was about to happen, and shouted a hurried warning.

"look out, ainley!"

in the same second, the half-breed, standing swiftly upright, launched himself across the fire at ainley, knife in hand. the white man who had looked up at stane's sudden warning was bowled over in the snow with the half-breed on the top of him. the knife was lifted, but never struck, for in that second anderton also had leaped, and gripping the half-breed's wrist he twisted the knife from his grasp, and flinging it away, dragged the attacker from his victim. by the time stane had reached the scene, ainley was gathering up some scattered papers, apparently none the worse for the encounter, whilst anderton was admonishing the half-breed.

"you're a nice lot, chigmok. winged as you are, i thought you were quite safe. now you force me to tie you up, savvy?"

he promptly proceeded to do so, whilst ainley seated himself anew and looked up at stane. "thank you, stane! the warning was more than i deserved from you!" then he laughed bitterly. "the poor devil isn't to be blamed. i have merited what he meant to do, and you know it might have been the better way—for me."

stane looked at him not knowing what to reply. there was something about ainley that moved him to sudden pity. he looked like a man who had reached the end of hope and life, and his words were those of a man viewing his own end as a matter of no moment. "i'm sorry, ainley!" said stane awkwardly.

"so am i! but what's the use? there's no going back in life; a man can only go forward or——"

"or what?" asked stane.

"or go out!" answered the other grimly.

"you are thinking of——"

"better for you not to know, stane. i'm going to do the straight thing for once in my life, as you will discover presently. don't you worry about me. i am plumb at the end of things and i know it. but don't communicate any suspicions you may happen to have to anderton. he has set up that precious duty of his as a fetish, worships it, as you heard. think of dandy anderton of the old days on his knees at the shrine of duty!" he gave a little laugh, and then continued, "but i don't want to be offered on his altar, and i won't be. you can bank on that!" he broke off and looked towards helen, hovering on the edge of the shadows. "if you've any sense, stane, you'll go and persuade helen to lie down and rest, she must be worn out by now!"

stane nodded and turned away, and after a little more walking to and fro, helen sought the tent, whilst stane, after a word or two with anderton and jean bènard, rolled himself in his sleeping furs, though with little hope of sleep. he lay awake some time and frequently opened his eyes to see ainley still bent over his pocket-book, but presently drowsiness came over him. the last time his eyes alighted on ainley the latter had ceased to write and was sitting staring into the fire with sombre eyes. then sleep overtook him completely.

he awoke in the grey dawn with anderton's voice in his ears, and with a powdery snow driving into his eyes.

"what——"

"ainley's gone. i left one of the indians to watch—not that i thought there was any very real need—but the beggar slept, and ainley evidently took the opportunity to bolt."

"has he taken dogs?" asked stane quickly.

"no, nor anything else that i can see. he has even left his pocket-book behind with some pages bent over and addressed to you. here it is! out of the wood it must be snowing like the very devil, and he can't go far. i'm going after him with jean bènard, and i want you to look after chigmok and these indians of ainley's."

"all right, anderton! but you won't catch ainley, you know."

"why not?"

"because," was the reply given with quiet significance, "i am afraid that ainley has gone very far indeed."

a light of comprehension came into the policeman's eyes, and he whistled thoughtfully.

"you think——" he began and stopped.

"i am quite sure that ainley has started on the longest trail of all. why didn't he take dogs? how long can he last in this wilderness without? and as you say outside the wood it must be snowing heavily—which way has he gone?"

"his tracks are on the backward trail——"

"to the open country—and in a blizzard. anderton, old man, let him go. you must guess what he is about——"

"maybe i do," answered anderton quietly.

"and you'll only be wasting your strength for nothing."

"i hope to god you're right!" broke out the policeman vehemently. "but all the same i've got to follow him—duty's duty—but you don't suppose i'm keen on taking an old pal to be hanged at regina. i'm glad ainley had the sense and grit to take the long trail on his own. but i'm bound to try and stop him; though i thank heaven that he has an hour's start. now i must go. keep your eye on chigmok, he stands for my honour and credit much more than ainley, because of his original crime. so long!"

he turned away and disappeared into the forest on the backward trail with jean bènard, and half an hour afterwards helen emerged from her tent to find him bent over ainley's pocket-book with a troubled look in his eyes.

"what is it?" she asked looking round. "where is mr. ainley and where are——"

"ainley went away in the night. the others have gone after him. they will not catch him—at least i pray not."

"you think he will get away?"

"he has taken a trail where they are not likely to follow."

"oh!" cried helen with a sob. "you mean that he—that he——?"

"yes! he hinted his intention to me last night——"

"and you did not try to stop him?" she cried almost reproachfully.

"no! why should i? if you will think, helen, you will find many reasons why this was the only thing for ainley. he has left a long note in his pocket-book and a confession which clears me of that affair at oxford. there is a note also for you—perhaps you would like to take the book and read the note to me as well."

he handed her the pocket-book and watched her as she returned to the little tent, then began to busy himself with preparations for breakfast. half an hour later helen emerged again. her eyes were red with weeping.

"i have torn my note out," she said, "there it is." she held a crumpled ball of paper in her hand. "it is the saddest thing i ever read. he tells me that he was responsible for my going adrift, that he deliberately broke my paddle in order that he might find me and pose as a hero, because he wanted me to marry him and knew that i worshipped heroism. he says that he had made what reparation was possible to you and that you will be able to clear your name. he prays for our happiness, and—and—he hints at what he was about to do, because he finishes with the old cry of the gladiators—'hail cæsar, we who are about to die, salute thee!' oh! it is so sad!... no eyes but mine shall ever read it—and i—shall never read it again."

she moved her hand slightly and the crumpled ball rolled into the blaze of the fire. she watched the flickering flame leap up, and die down, then she turned to her lover with streaming eyes.

"you were right to let him go, my dear! i—i pray god they will not find him."

"i also!" said stane.

... they waited an hour, two hours, saying little, neither trying to hide from the other the anxiety each felt, and then through the mist of snow between the trees came anderton and jean bènard. stane flashed a question at the policeman, who shook his head.

"thank god!" said stane, whilst jean bènard looked at helen.

"zee deaths een zee snow, eet ees nodings! i know. i haf seen a man die so. eet ees as gentle as a woman's hand."

and as he finished speaking helen turned and went to the little tent to pray for the repose of the man who had sinned, but had made the last complete reparation.

two days later, when the storm had blown itself out, all of them took the trail to fort malsun, and at the end of the first day reached a small river that was unknown to stane.

"where does this go to?" he asked over the camp fire at night, pointing to the frozen waterway.

"it makes a big bend and falls into the river above fort malsun," said anderton.

"and the other way? where does it come from?"

"don't know!" answered anderton. "never travelled it!"

"but i haf," said jean bènard. "i haf been up eet fiftee miles. two days' trail from here dere ees an engleesh mission, where a married priest preach zee gospel to zee indians. he ees vaire good man, who laugh like an angel!"

a musing look came on stane's face, and he sat for some time in thought, then when the opportunity came he walked with helen on the edge of the wood, conversing earnestly. a burst of light laughter reached the men by the camp fire and jean bènard looked round.

"what ees ze saying of your countrymen, p'liceman? 'youth eet veel be served!' it veel snatch eet's happiness from zee jaws of death, eetself."

"yes! and these two deserve the happiness they will get!"

when stane and helen returned to the fire, the former, whilst anderton was busy elsewhere, spent some time in conversation with jean bènard, who, after a few moments, cried enthusiastically:

"by gar! dat ees a great plan, m'sieu! zee dogs an' zee stores i would giv' dem you eef i vos not so poor a mans! but you can buy dem—wid pleasure!"

"very well! but not a word to anderton till morning."

"right, m'sieu. i understand. you an' your mees you giv' zee p'licemans one beeg surprise! eees not dat so?"

"that is it," laughed stane.

and anderton's surprise was complete. whilst it was yet dark and the stars were twinkling frostily, the three dog-teams were harnessed on the river trail.

then the policeman made the discovery that jean bènard's team was headed upstream.

"hallo, jean," he cried, "are you going to leave us?"

"not i, m'sieu anderton," said the trapper with a grin. "i go wid you to fort malsun to help you look after chigmok an' zee odders. but i zee team sold to m'sieu stane, an' he goes to zee engleesh mission."

"to the english mission!" then a light broke on the policeman, and he turned to where stane and helen stood together, with laughter in their eyes. "i could shake you—shake you both," he said. "it is a pretty game to cheat me out of the job of best man. but, great christopher! it's the tip-top thing to do, to marry before you go out of the wilderness."

"that missionary," laughed stane, "is a godsend. it would be folly not to use the opportunity he represents."

"so i should think if i were in your shoes," laughed anderton, joining in the laughter.

"and jean says he laughs like an angel," cried helen gaily. "i want to see him, naturally. i have never seen an angel laugh!"

"but i have! and so has stane," replied the policeman. "how soon do you take the trail to paradise? we'll wait and see you start!"

"we're ready now," said stane.

"then it's time you were off!"

hands were shaken, good-byes said, then stane stepped ahead of the dogs, whilst helen took her place at the gee-pole.

"moosh! moosh!" cried jean to the dogs.

then amid cries of well-wishes they started off on their trail to the english mission, and overhead the lights of the aurora, flaming suddenly, lit the trail with splendour.