“Wal,” said the cookee, solemnly, “if the r'yal Asiatic tiger--meanin' Colonel Gid--and the great human Bengal--meanin' him as is in the wangan--get together in this clearin', I think I'd rather see it from up a tree.” And the two were only diverted from their breathless discussion of possibilities by the noisy arrival of Gideon Ward, clamoring for his supper. [Illustration: Colonel Ward stamped in 149-174] Parker had hardly finished in solitude his humble supper brought by the cookee, when there was a rattling of the padlock outside. Open flew the door of bolted planks, and Colonel Ward stamped in, kicking the snow from his feet with wholly unnecessary racket of boots. A hatchet-faced man, whose chin was framed between the ends of a drooping yellow mustache, followed meekly and closed the door. Parker rose with a confident air he was far from feeling. Ward gazed on his prisoner a moment, his gray hair bristling from under his fur cap, his little eyes glittering maliciously. His cheek knobs were more irately purple than ever. He took up his cry where he had left it at Poquette Carry, and began to shout: “Better'n law, hey? Better'n law! Ye remember what I said, don't yeh? Better'n law!” The young man faced him. “Colonel Ward, there's a law against trespass, a law against conspiracy, a law against riots and destruction of property, and a law against abduction. I promise you here and now that you'll learn something about those laws later.” “Still threat'nin' me right on my own land, are yeh, hey?” “I am not threatening. I am simply standing up for my rights as a citizen under the law.” “Wal, I ain't here to argue law nor nothin' else with yeh. I've had you brought up here so's I can talk straight business with you. You've had a pretty tart lesson, but I hope you've learned somethin' by it. I've showed ye that a railro'd can't be built over Gideon Ward's property till he says the word. An' he'll never say the word. Ye're licked. Own up to it, now ain't ye?” Ward's voice was mighty with a conqueror's confidence. “Not by any means. You have simply incurred the penalty of being sent to state prison. And while you're there I'll be building that railroad.” Fury fairly streamed from Ward's eyes. He choked, grasped at his throat, writhed as if he were strangling, and stamped his foot until the camp shook. At last he recovered his voice. “I'll pay ye for that! Now see here!” He jammed a paper into Parker's hands. “Sign that docyment, there an' now. Sign it an' swear ye'll stick by your agreement; 'cause if ye go back on it, may the Lord have mercy on your soul, for Gid Ward never will!” Parker glanced at the crudely drawn agreement. It bound him as agent for his principals to withdraw all material from the Po-quette Carry, and abandon his railroad undertaking. It furthermore promised that he would make no complaint on account of damages to property or himself--admitting that he had been guilty of trespass.