"I think I'll find means to make you tell me!" burst out the Factor. Ned Trent was silent. "If you'll tell me the name of that man I'll let you go free. I'll give you a permit to trade in the country. It touches my authority--my discipline. The affair becomes a precedent. It is vital." Ned Trent fixed his eyes on the bay and hummed a little air, half turning his shoulder to the older man. The latter's face blazed with suppressed fury. Twice his hand rested almost convulsively on the butt of his heavy revolver. "Ned Trent," he cried, harshly, at last, "pay attention to me. I've had enough of this. I swear if you do not tell me what I want to know within five minutes, I'll hang you to-day!" The young man spun on his heel. "Hanging!" he cried. "You cannot mean that?" The Free Trader measured him up and down, saw that his purpose was sincere, and turned slowly pale under the bronze of his out-of-door tan. Hanging is always a dreadful death, but in the Far North it carries an extra stigma of ignominy with it, inasmuch as it is resorted to only with the basest malefactors. Shooting is the usual form of execution for all but the most despicable crimes. He turned away with a little gesture. "Well!" cried Albret. Ned Trent locked his lips in a purposeful straight line of silence. To such an outrage there could be nothing to say. The Factor jerked his watch to the table. "I said five minutes," he repeated. "I mean it." [Illustration: "GO TO THE DEVIL!" Scene from the play.] The young man leaned against the side of the window, his arms folded, his back to the room. Outside, the varied life of the Post went forward under his eyes. He even noted with a surface interest the fact that out across the river a loon was floating, and remarked that never before had he seen one of those birds so far north. Galen Albret struck the table with the flat of his hand. "Done!" he cried, "This is the last chance I shall give you. Speak at this instant or accept the consequences!" Ned Trent turned sharply, as though breaking a thread that bound him to the distant prospect beyond the window. For an instant he stared enigmatically at his opponent. Then in the sweetest tones, "Oh, go to the devil!" said he, and began to walk deliberately toward the older man. There lay between the window and the head of the table perhaps a dozen ordinary steps, for the room was large. The young man took them slowly, his eyes fixed with burning intensity on the seated figure, the muscles of his locomotion contracting and relaxing with the smooth, stealthy continuity of a cat. Galen Albret again laid hand on his revolver. "Come no nearer," he commanded. Me-en-gan left the door and glided along the wall. But the table intervened between him and the Free Trader. The latter paid no attention to the Factor's command. Galen Albret suddenly raised his weapon from the table. "Stop, or I'll fire!" he cried, sharply. "I mean just that," said Ned Trent between his clenched teeth.