This woman was rich. One who is not rich cannot afford to transport
thirty-odd tons of outfit into the heart of the wilderness, at the
tariff of fifteen cents the pound. So, throughout the days of the
journey, the man gazed with avarice upon the piles of burlapped pieces,
while his brain devised the scheme. Thereafter, in the dead of night
occurred many whispered consultations, as Vermilion won over his men.
He chose shrewdly, for these men knew Pierre Lapierre, and well they
knew what portion would be theirs should the scheme of Vermilion
miscarry.

At last, the selection had been made, and five of the most desperate
and daring of all the rivermen had, by the lure of much gold, consented
to cast loose from the system and "go it alone." The first daring move
in the undertaking had succeeded--a move that, in itself, bespoke the
desperate character of its perpetrators, for it was no accident that
sent the head scow plunging down through the Chute in the darkness.

But, in the breast of Vermilion, as he sat alone beside his camp-fire,
was no sense of elation--and in the heart of him was a great fear.
For, despite the utmost secrecy among the conspirators, the half-breed
knew that even at that moment, somewhere to the northward, Pierre
Lapierre had learned of his plot.

Eight days had elapsed since the mysterious disappearance of
Chenoine--and Chenoine, it was whispered, was half-brother to Pierre
Lapierre. Therefore, Vermilion crouched beside his camp-fire and
cursed the slowness of the coming of the day. For well he knew that
when a man double-crossed Pierre Lapierre, he must get away with it--or
die. Many had died. The black eyes flashed dangerously.