her face all grey, her fingers lacing and interlacing with pain. Only
Pierre sat with masterful stillness, his eyes never moving from the face
of the player; his arms folded; his feet firmly wedded to the floor. The
sound became strangely distressing. It shocked the flesh and angered the
nerves. Upon Lazenby it acted singularly. He cowered from it, but
presently, with a look of madness in his eyes, rushed forward, arms
outstretched, as though to seize this intolerable minstrel. There was a
sudden pause in the playing; then the room quaked with noise, buffeting
Lazenby into stillness. The sounds changed instantly again, and music of
an engaging sweetness and delight fell about them as in silver drops--an
enchanting lyric of love. Its exquisite tenderness subdued Lazenby, who,
but now, had a heart for slaughter. He dropped on his knees, threw his
head into his arms, and sobbed hard. The Tall Master's fingers crept
caressingly along one of those heavenly veins of sound, his bow poising
softly over it. The farthest star seemed singing.

At dawn the next day the Golden Dogs were gathered for war before the
Fort. Immediately after the sun rose, the foe were seen gliding darkly
out of the horizon. From another direction came two travellers. These
also saw the White Hands bearing upon the Fort, and hurried forward.
They reached the gates of the Fort in good time, and were welcomed. One
was a chief trader from a fort in the west. He was an old man, and had
been many years in the service of the H. B. C.; and, like Lazenby, had
spent his early days in London, a connoisseur in all its pleasures; the
other was a voyageur. They had posted on quickly to bring news of this
crusade of the White Hands.

The hostile Indians came steadily to within a few hundred yards of the
Golden Dogs. Then they sent a brave to say that they had no quarrel with
the people of the Fort; and that if the Golden Dogs came on they would