forward under his eyes. He even noted with a surface interest the fact
that out across the river a loon was floating, and remarked that
never before had he seen one of those birds so far north. Galen Albret
struck the table with the flat of his hand.

"Done!" he cried, "This is the last chance I shall give you. Speak at
this instant or accept the consequences!"

Ned Trent turned sharply, as though breaking a thread that bound him
to the distant prospect beyond the window. For an instant he stared
enigmatically at his opponent. Then in the sweetest tones,

"Oh, go to the devil!" said he, and began to walk deliberately toward
the older man.

There lay between the window and the head of the table perhaps a dozen
ordinary steps, for the room was large. The young man took them
slowly, his eyes fixed with burning intensity on the seated figure,
the muscles of his locomotion contracting and relaxing with the
smooth, stealthy continuity of a cat. Galen Albret again laid hand on
his revolver.

"Come no nearer," he commanded.

Me-en-gan left the door and glided along the wall. But the table
intervened between him and the Free Trader.

The latter paid no attention to the Factor's command. Galen Albret
suddenly raised his weapon from the table.