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The eyes of the chief had never lifted from the Fort: nor from his look
could you have told that he heard his daughter’s words. For a moment
he was silent, then a deep fire came into his eyes, and his wide heavy
brows drew up so that the frown of anger was gone. At last, as she
waited, he arose, put out a hand and touched her forehead.

“Mitawawa has spoken well,” he said. “There will be an end. The yokes of
gold are mine: an honour given cannot be taken away. He has stolen;
he is a thief. He would not fight Konto: but I am a chief and he shall
fight me. I am as great as many men–I have carried the golden yokes: we
will fight for them. I thought long, for I was afraid my daughter loved
the man more than her people: but now I will break him in pieces. Has
Mitawawa seen him since the shameful day?”

“He has come to the lodge, but I would not let him in unless he brought
the epaulettes. He said he would bring them when Konto was punished. I
begged of him as I never begged of my own father, but he was hard as the
ironwood tree. I sent him away. Yet there is no tongue like his in the
world; he is tall and beautiful, and has the face of a spirit.”

From the Fort Fyles watched the two. With a pair of field-glasses he
could follow their actions, could almost read their faces. “There’ll
be a lot of sulking about those epaulettes, Mallory,” he said at last,
turning to his clerk. “Old Athabasca has a bee in his bonnet.”

“Wouldn’t it be just as well to give ’em back, sir?” Mallory had been at
Fort Pentecost a long time, and he understood Athabasca and his Indians.
He was a solid, slow-thinking old fellow, but he had that wisdom of the
north which can turn from dove to serpent and from serpent to lion in
the moment.

“Give ’em back, Mallory? I’ll see him in Jericho first, unless he goes
on his marrow-bones and kicks Konto out of the camp.”

“Very well, sir. But I think we’d better keep an eye open.”

“Eye open, be hanged! If he’d been going to riot he’d have done so
before this. Besides, the girl–!” Mallory looked long and earnestly at
his master, whose forehead was glued to the field-glass. His little eyes
moved as if in debate, his slow jaws opened once or twice. At last he
said: “I’d give the girl the go-by, Mr. Fyles, if I was you, unless I
meant to marry her.” Fyles suddenly swung round. “Keep your place,
blast you, Mallory, and keep your morals too. One’d think you were a
missionary.” Then with a sudden burst of anger: “Damn it all, if my men
don’t stand by me against a pack of treacherous Indians, I’d better get
out.”

“Your men will stand by you, sir: no fear. I’ve served three traders
here, and my record is pretty clean, Mr. Fyles. But I’ll say it to your
face, whether you like it or not, that you’re not as good a judge of the
Injin as me, or even Duc the cook: and that’s straight as I can say it,
Mr. Fyles.”

Fyles paced up and down in anger–not speaking; but presently threw up
the glass, and looked towards Athabasca’s lodge. “They’re gone,” he said
presently; “I’ll go and see them to-morrow. The old fool must do what I
want, or there’ll be ructions.”

The moon was high over Fort Pentecost when Athabasca entered the silent
yard. The dogs growled, but Indian dogs growl without reason, and no one
heeds them. The old chief stood a moment looking at the windows, upon
which slush-lights were throwing heavy shadows. He went to Fyles’
window: no one was in the room. He went to another: Mallory and Duc
were sitting at a table. Mallory had the epaulettes, looking at them
and fingering the hooks by which Athabasca had fastened them on. Duc was
laughing: he reached over for an epaulette, tossed it up, caught it and
threw it down with a guffaw. Then the door opened, and Athabasca walked
in, seized the epaulettes, and went swiftly out again. Just outside
the door Mallory clapped a hand on one shoulder, and Duc caught at the
epaulettes.

Athabasca struggled wildly. All at once there was a cold white flash,
and Duc came huddling to Mallory’s feet. For a brief instant Mallory
and the Indian fell apart, then Athabasca with a contemptuous fairness
tossed his knife away, and ran in on his man. They closed; strained,
swayed, became a tangled wrenching mass; and then Mallory was lifted
high into the air, and came down with a broken back.

Athabasca picked up the epaulettes, and hurried away, breathing hard,
and hugging them to his bare red-stained breast. He had nearly reached
the gate when he heard a cry. He did not turn, but a heavy stone caught
him high in the shoulders, and he fell on his face and lay clutching the
epaulettes in his outstretched hands.

Fyles’ own hands were yet lifted with the effort of throwing, when he
heard the soft rush of footsteps, and someone came swiftly into his
embrace. A pair of arms ran round his shoulders–lips closed with
his–something ice-cold and hard touched his neck–he saw a bright flash
at his throat.

In the morning Konto found Mitawawa sitting with wild eyes by her
father’s body. She had fastened the epaulettes on its shoulders. Fyles
and his men made a grim triangle of death at the door of the Fort.