Immediately all was confusion. Jenny kicked and struggled, churning the water, throwing it about, kicking out in every direction. Once a horse's head dips strongly, the game is over. No animal drowns more quickly. The two young boys scrambled away, and French oaths could not induce them to approach. Molly, still upheld by Fabian, looked at him piteously with her strange intelligent eyes, holding herself motionless and rigid with complete confidence in this master who had never failed her before. Fabian dug his heels into the ice, but could not hang on. The drowning horse was more than a dead weight. Presently it became a question of letting go or being dragged into the lake on top of the animals. With a sob the little Frenchman relinquished his hold. The water seemed slowly to rise and over-film the troubled look of pleading in Molly's eyes. “Assassins!” hissed Laveque at the two unfortunate youths. That was all. When the surface of the waters had again mirrored the clouds, they hauled the carcasses out on the ice and stripped the harness. Then they rolled the log from the dray, piled the tools on it, and took their way to camp. In the blue of the winter's sky was a single speck. The speck grew. Soon it swooped. With a hoarse croak it lit on the snow at a wary distance, and began to strut back and forth. Presently, its suspicions at rest, the raven advanced, and with eager beak began its dreadful meal. By this time another, which had seen the first one's swoop, was in view through the ether; then another; then another. In an hour the brotherhood of ravens, thus telegraphically notified, was at feast. Chapter VIII Fabian Laveque elaborated the details of the catastrophe with volubility. “Hee's not fonny dat she bre'ks t'rough,” he said. “I 'ave see dem bre'k t'rough two, t'ree tam in de day, but nevaire dat she get drown! W'en dose dam-fool can't t'ink wit' hees haid--sacre Dieu! eet is so easy, to chok' dat cheval--she make me cry wit' de eye!” “I suppose it was a good deal my fault,” commented Radway, doubtfully shaking his head, after Laveque had left the office. “I ought to have been surer about the ice.” “Eight inches is a little light, with so much snow atop,” remarked the scaler carelessly. By virtue of that same careless remark, however, Radway was so confirmed in his belief as to his own culpability that he quite overlooked Fabian's just contention--that the mere thinness of the ice was in reality no excuse for the losing of the horses. So Pat and Henrys were not discharged--were not instructed to “get their time.” Fabian Laveque promptly demanded his. “Sacre bleu!” said he to old Jackson. “I no work wid dat dam-fool dat no t'ink wit' hees haid.”