two youths on the river bank and the spell was broken.

McElroy went forward.

"DesCaut," he said sharply, and his words cut like the lash of the long
dog-whips, "you deserves death but you have been beaten by a woman. Go,
and boast of your strength. It is sufficient."

DesCaut stood a moment swaying drunkenly with the force of passion
within him, his lips snarling back from his teeth and his eyes
measuring the factor unsteadily then he snatched off the little cap he
wore and hurled it at him.

Turning on his heel he swung down toward the gate and the two voyageurs
now standing and still laughing merrily.

One look at his bloodshot eyes sobered their mirth, and Pierre Garcon
reached involuntarily for the knife in his sash.

But Bois DesCaut, savage to silence, swung past them into the fort.

McElroy watched him until he disappeared, fearing he knew not what.

Then he faced the little scene again.

Down on her knees little Francette had lifted the heavy head with its
dull eyes and pitiful hanging tongue, lifted it to her breast, weeping
and smoothing the short ears deaf to her soft words, and sat rocking to
and fro in an ecstasy of grief. Beyond SHE stood, that tall woman,
stood silent and frowning, looking down upon the two, and the factor