"I say that you have stopped just in time, M'seur," replied Croisset with purring softness. "Another half hour and we would have been through the forest, and just beyond that--in the edge of the plain--are those whom you seek, Meleese and her people. That is what I started to tell you back there when you shut me up. Mon Dieu, if it were not for Meleese I would let you go on. And then--what would happen then, M'seur, if you made your visit to them in broad day? Listen!"
Jean lifted a warning hand. Faintly there came to them through the forest the distant baying of a hound.
"That is one of our dogs from the Mackenzie country," he went on softly, an insinuating triumph in his low voice. "Now, M'seur, that I have brought you here what are you going to do? Shall we go on and take dinner with those who are going to kill you, or will you wait a few hours? Eh, which shall it be?"
For a moment Howland stood motionless, stunned by the Frenchman's words. Quickly he recovered himself. His eyes burned with a metallic gleam as they met the half taunt in Croisset's cool smile.
"If I had not stopped you--we would have gone on?" he questioned tensely.
"To be sure, M'seur," retorted Croisset, still smiling. "You warned me to lose no time--that something would happen if I did."
With a quick movement Howland drew his revolver and leveled it at the Frenchman's heart.
"If you ever prayed to those blessed saints of yours, do it now, Jean Croisset. I'm going to kill you!" he cried fiercely.