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And to that note another added itself, until in the purling rhythm of the river he caught the murmuring monotone of a name Boulain Boulain Boulain. The name became an obsession. It meant something. And he knew what it meant if he could only whip his memory back into harness again. But that was impossible now. When he tried to concentrate his mental faculties, his head ached terrifically.

It occurred to him rather unpleasantly that there had been something distinctly proprietary in the way the half-breed had picked her up on the sand, and that Bateese had shown no hesitation a little later in threatening to knock his head off unless he stopped talking to her. He wondered if Bateese was a Boulain.

Positive that Marie-Anne had been left with the raft, the thought that the Chateau Boulain might be devoured by the onrushing conflagration did not appal David. The chateau held little interest for him now. It was Black Roger he wanted. As he ran toward the old spruce, he picked up a club that lay in the path.

And in this cabin on the raft, forgetful of her degradation and her grief, was the vilest wretch he had ever known St. Pierre Boulain. And with him, giving herself into his arms, caressing him with her lips and hair, was the sister of the man he had helped to hang CARMIN FANCHET! The shock of the amazing discovery which Carrigan had made was as complete as it was unexpected.

At least, so they had judged Carmin Fanchet along with her brother. And Boulain His hand, in dropping to his side, fell upon the butt of his pistol. Neither Bateese nor the girl had thought of disarming him. It was careless of them, unless Bateese was keeping a good eye on him from behind. A new sort of thrill crept into Carrigan's blood.

He killed the murderers of our mother and father, and then he buried himself deeper into the forests with us, and we took our mother's family names which was Boulain, and settled here on the Yellowknife. Roger Black Roger, as you know him brought the bones of our father and mother and buried them over in the edge of that plain where he died and where our first cabin stood.

At the end of the mile the trees began to open above their heads, and they soon came to the edge of the timber. In the darkness David caught his breath. Dead ahead, not a rifle shot away, was the Chateau Boulain. He knew it before Black Roger had said a word. He guessed it by the lighted windows, full a score of them, without a curtain drawn to shut out their illumination from the night.

"And because I make this wager with myself, I cannot kill you, M'sieu David though that might be the best thing to do. I am going to take you to the Chateau Boulain, which is in the forests of the Yellowknife, beyond the Great Slave. Nothing will happen to you if you make no effort to escape. If you do that, you will surely die.

Such a blow, if not avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and third generations, and even children would call out "Yellow-Back Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive it without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of Concombre Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St. Pierre Boulain was about to kill the man who had struck him.

At first Carrigan allowed this to filter between his fingers; then he opened his eyes. He felt more evenly balanced again. Straight in front of him was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. The curtain of dusk had risen from between them, and she was full in the radiance of the moon. She was no longer paddling, but was looking straight ahead. To Cardigan her figure was exquisitely girlish as he saw it now.