Douglas and Bradford sat by the fire that smoldered in the middle of the floor of the miserable hut they occupied. Occasionally, one or the other arose and peeped out at the pouring rain. But the scene was too depressing; and, shivering, he returned to the fire. The pungent smoke refused to find its way out at the hole in the bark roof, but swirled and eddied about the interior and added to the general discomfort. Neither man was in a talkative mood. Hour after hour, they sat staring into the ash-masked embers, each busy with his own thoughts. As the day advanced, Ross’s apathy left him. He grew strangely restless, and like a caged animal paced from one end of the cabin to the other. Bradford noted his companion’s changed mood, but said nothing. By four o’clock it was growing dusk. Douglas suddenly picked up his hat and started for the door. “Where are you going?” Bradford inquired. “For a walk,” was the non-committal reply. Duke arose, stretched himself, yawned, and rubbed against his master’s legs. “Surely you’re not going out in such a rain,” Bradford remarked. “You’ll get wet to the skin.” “What’s a little rain to a man who has spent his days in the open air,” Douglas returned quickly, still moving toward the doorway. “Wait!” And Bradford sprang to his feet and placed himself in front of the other, his broad back against the closed door. “What do you mean?” Ross cried, drawing himself up stiffly. It was a strange scene. The flickering firelight alone lighted the black interior and outlined the forms and faces of the two men. The bloodhound stood looking from one to the other. Outside, the rain fell and the wind soughed fitfully. “I mean that you’re not going out to-night,” Bradford answered firmly. Douglas’s temper was rising. “You dare to say that I shan’t go out to-night, if I choose?” he asked. “Yes; that’s what I mean.” “And you think I’ll submit?” “You must—you can’t help yourself.” “That remains to be seen.” “Oh!” “Yes.” They stood glaring at each other, like brutes at bay. The older man was cool and collected; the younger, angry and excited. Each was striving to stare the other out of countenance; but neither shrank from the ordeal. “Stand aside!” Ross cried chokingly. “I will not.” “The consequences be upon your own head, then!” Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, ere Douglas leaped forward and grappled with his antagonist. Around and around the small, dark room they whirled, each striving to trip and throw the other. Douglas was the stronger, the more active; Scar Face, the cooler, the more skillful. They were evenly matched.