Helen flinched at the answer which confirmed what the half-breed had said to her about Stane being dead. She looked away, not wishing Ainley to see her face at that moment, whilst the hot tears welled in her eyes, and the man, choosing to disregard her manifest sorrow, continued his story. "We found an Indian in the snow, who had been wounded in the fight, as he told us, and on pressure he gave me the information that you had been carried away by a half-breed of the name of Chigmok, who, as the Indian averred, was making for the lake of the Little Moose, that is the lake where we rescued you. This wounded man also informed us that Chigmok had a camp on the lake, gave us instructions how to find it; and volunteered the further information that Chigmok was taking the longest route to the lake, since that was the easier way for a heavily-loaded sledge. There was a shorter way, as he informed us, a way which if we travelled hard, would bring us to the lake before Chigmok himself; and after considering the matter carefully I decided to take the shorter route, and to await your captor at his own camp, since, as he had no reason for anticipating pursuit, the surprise would be all the more complete. We arrived there in good time, and—well, you know the rest, Helen."
"Not quite," answered the girl in a listless, toneless voice. "You have not yet told me what this man Chigmok proposed to do with me."
"Well, the wounded Indian told us that he had fallen violently in love with you, and that he proposed to make you his squaw."
"Ah!"
Ainley interpreted the exclamation in his own way, but looking at the girl was surprised by a look which had come into her face. Her listlessness had fallen from her. There was a look of absorption about her which puzzled him, and he wondered what she was thinking of. He did not know what her captor had revealed to her, and so never dreamed the truth, which was that Helen was thinking that for the second time he had fallen from the truth in his narrative. But again she gave no further sign. For a little time she sat there grasping at the hope, the very little hope it gave her. He had lied twice, she was sure. What reason was there for supposing that the other parts of his narrative were true? He had owned that he had not seen Hubert Stane's body, and that he had taken the Indian's word. But what if that were a lie, what if after all there had been no body, what if that, like the other things, was a fabrication? It was true that the half-breed had said Stane was dead, but that might be a mistake. A faint hope stirred in her heart, and she determined to question Ainley's two Indians as soon as the opportunity arose. Then a new thought came to her, and she turned quickly to Ainley.
"Tell me one thing," she said, "when you arrived at the cabin the attack was quite over?"
"Quite," he answered.
"And you did not take part in the fighting? You fired no shots at the attackers?"
"No," he answered. "They had gone when we arrived, all except the wounded Indian who gave me the information."
"Then who was it?" she cried.