first time in seventy-five years; then, no more!"

Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played.
Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: "The man's mad. He talks about Napoleon
as if he'd known him--as if it wasn't three-fourths of a century ago.
Does he think we're all born idiots? Why, he's not over sixty years old
now. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? And
the funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice how
he limped--the awkward beggar!"

Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the Tall Master
turned and said to him: "I ran a nail into my foot at Leyden seventy-odd
years ago."

"He's the devil himself," rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower his
voice.

"Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty," said the Tall
Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with the game, a
look of vague sadness came into his face.

For a half-hour they played in silence, the slight, delicate-featured
half-breed, and the mysterious man who had for so long been a thing of
wonder in the North, a weird influence among the Indians.

There was a strange, cold fierceness in the Tall Master's face. He now
staked his precious bundle against the one thing Pierre prized--the gold
watch received years ago for a deed of heroism on the Chaudiere. The
half-breed had always spoken of it as amusing, but Shon at least knew
that to Pierre it was worth his right hand.