The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1910-11-12

Croisset lifted his head, his face
twisted in a torture that was half
grief, half madness, and stared at
Rowland, with quivering nostrils
and heaving chest. In his com
panion's face he saw only a
dead white pallor of waiting, of
half comprehension. He leaned
over the table again, controlling
himself by a mighty effort.
1T was at that time when most
or us were out among the trap
pers, just before our big spring
caribou roast, when the forest
people came in with their furs.
M seur. The post was almost de-
serted. Do you understand? The
woman was alone in her cabin
with the little Meleese-and when
he came back at night she was
dead. Yes, M'seur, she killed her
self, leaving few written words
TO the Factor telling him what
had happened
"The man and the boy escaped
on sledge after the crime. Mon
Dieu, how the forest people leap
ed in pursuit! Runners carried
the word over the mountains and
through the swamps, and a hun
dred sledge parties searched the
Forest trails for the man-fiend and
his son. 1t was the Factor himself
and his youngest boy who found
them, FAR out on the Churchill
trail. And what happened then,
M'seur? Just this: While the
man-fiend urged on his dogs the
son fired back with a rifle, and
one of his bullets went straight
through the heart of the pursuing
Factor, so that in the space of one
day and one night the little Me-
leese was made both motherless
and fatherless by these two whom
the devil had sent to destroy the
most beautiful thing we have ever
known in this North. All, M'seur.
you turn white! Does 1t bring a
vision to you now? Do you hear
the crack of that rifle? Can Won
see"
my God!" gasped Rowland
Even now he understood nothing
of what this tragedy might mean
to him-forgot everything but
that he was listening to the terri
bic tragedy taht had come to the
woman who was the mother of
the girl he loved. He half rose
from his seat as Croisset paused:
his eyes glittered, his death-wbite
face was set in tense fierce lines
his finger-nails dug into the board
table. as he demanded, What
happened then, Croisset?"
Jean was eying him like an ami
NAL. His voice was low.
They escaped, M'seur."
With a deep breath Rowland
sank back. In a moment he lean
ed again toward Jean as he saw
come into the Frenchman's ewes
slumbering fire that few sec
onds later blazed into yengeful
malignity when he drew SLOWLY
from an inside pocket of his coat
small parcel wrapped and tied
in soft buckskin.
"They have sent you this.
M'seur," he said. "'At the very
last they told me, let him read
this"
With his eyes on the parcel
scarcely breathing, Rowland wait
ed while with exasperating slow
ness Croisset's brown fingers un-
tied the cord that secured 1t.
First you must understand
what this meant to us in the
North, Mseur," said Jean, his
hands covering the parcel after he
had finished with the cord. 1--WE
are different who live up here
different from those who live in
Montreal, and beyond. With us
g lifetime is not too long to spend
In avenging cruel wrong. It is
our honor of the North. was
fifteen then, and had been fos-
tered by the Factor and his wife
since the day my mother died of
the smallpox and I dragged my
sell. into the post. almost dead of
starvation. So 1t happened that 1
was like brother to Meleese and
the other three. The years pass
ed, and the desire for vengeance