A furry, snarling thing had leaped at him, knocking the revolver from his hand in its plunging ascent. Then a cry,--a gurgling growl. Teeth had clenched at the throat of the man; together they rolled through the door to the snow without, Golemar, his hold broken by the fall, striving again for the death clutch, the man screaming in sudden frantic fear. "Take him off!" The voice of the thin-visaged Fred Thayer was shrill now. "Take him off--I'll tell you about it--she did it--she did it! Take him off!" "Golemar!" Ba'tiste had appeared in the doorway. Below the dog whirled in obedience to his command and edged back, teeth still bared, eyes vigilant, waiting for the first movement of the man on the ground. Houston went forward and stood peering down at the frightened, huddled form of Thayer, wiping the blood from the fang wound in his neck. "You'll tell about what?" came with sudden incisiveness. The man stared, suddenly aware that he had spoken of a thing that had been mentioned by neither Ba'tiste nor Houston. His lips worked crookedly. He tried to smile, but it ended only in a misshapen snarl. "I thought you fellows were looking for something. I--I--wanted to get the dog off." "We were. We've found it. Ba'tiste," and Houston forced back the tigerish form of the big French-Canadian. "You walk in front of us. I'm--I'm afraid to trust you right now. And don't turn back. Do you promise?" The big hands worked convulsively. The eyes took on a newer, fiercer glare. "He is the man, eh? His conscience, eet speak when there is no one to ask the question. He--" "Go on, Ba'tiste. Please." Houston's voice was that of a pleading son. Once more the big muscles knotted, the arms churned; the giant's teeth showed between furled lips in a sudden beast-like expression. "Ba'tiste! Do you want to add murder to murder? This is out of our hands now; it's a matter of law. Now, go ahead--for me." With an effort the Canadian obeyed, the wolf-dog trotting beside him, Houston following, one hand locked about the buckle of the thinner man's belt, the other half supporting him as he limped and reeled through the snow. "It's my hip--" The man's mind had gone to trivial things. "I sprained it--about ten days ago. I'd been living over here with her up till the storm. Then I had to be at camp. I--" "That was your child, then?" Fred Thayer was silent. Barry Houston repeated the question commandingly. There could be no secrecy now; events had gone too far. For a third time the accusation came and the man beside him turned angrily. "Whose would you think it was?" Houston did not answer. They stumbled on through the snow-drifted woods, finally to reach the open space leading to the sleigh. Thayer drew back. "What's the use of taking me into town?" he begged. "She's dead and gone; you can't harm her now." "We're not inquiring about her."