A hundred yards farther I caught my first glimpse of the two figures, Montell’s huge body bent forward as he tugged at his load. Barreau increased his speed. We were up with them in a half minute more. Montell whirled with a growl half alarm, half defiance. He threw up the rifle in his hands. But Barreau was too quick for him, and the weapon was wrenched out of his grasp before he could use it. With an inarticulate bellow Montell shook himself free of the shoulder-rope by which he drew the toboggan and threw himself bodily upon Barreau, striking, pawing, blaspheming terribly. Strangely enough Jessie made no move, nor even cried out at the sight. She stood like one fascinated by that brute spectacle. It did not endure for long. The great bulk of Montell bore Barreau backward, but only for a moment. He ducked a wild swing that had power enough behind it to have broken his neck, came up under Montell’s clutching arms and struck him once under the chin—a lifting blow, with all the force of his muscular body centered therein. It staggered the big man. And as I stepped forward, meditating interference, Barreau jammed him backward over our loaded toboggan, and held him there helpless. He pinned him thus for a second; then suddenly released him. Montell stood up, a thin stream of blood trickling from one nostril. He glowered sullenly, but the ferocious gleam of passion had died out of his eyes. “Get a fire built,” Barreau ordered, “and a tent pitched. We shall camp here to-night. Make no more wild breaks like that, unless you want to be overtaken with sudden death. When we are warm I have something to say to you.” Twilight merged into gray night, and the red blaze of the fire we built glowed on the surrounding trees and the canvas of the tent. A pot of melted snow bubbled and shed steam. Close by it a piece of moose-flesh thawed in the heat. Jessie, still mute, sat on a piece of canvas I spread for her, and held her hands to the flame. “Now,” Barreau challenged Montell, “is a good time for explanations. Only facts, no matter how they gall you, will serve. Speak up. First begin at the beginning, and tell the truth—to her.” He motioned to Jessie. She started slightly. A half dozen times I had noticed her looking first at myself and then at Barreau, and there was wonder and something else in her heavy-lashed eyes. Now she flashed a glance of inquiry at her father. For a moment I thought she was about to speak. I cannot say what there was in Barreau’s tone that stirred Montell to the depths. It may have been that finding himself checkmated, dominated by a man he hated so sincerely, another fierce spasm of rage welled up within and ruptured some tautened blood-vessel. It may have been some weakness of the heart, common to fleshy men. I cannot diagnose, at best I can but feebly describe.