In the same second, the half-breed, standing swiftly upright, launched himself across the fire at Ainley, knife in hand. The white man who had looked up at Stane's sudden warning was bowled over in the snow with the half-breed on the top of him. The knife was lifted, but never struck, for in that second Anderton also had leaped, and gripping the half-breed's wrist he twisted the knife from his grasp, and flinging it away, dragged the attacker from his victim. By the time Stane had reached the scene, Ainley was gathering up some scattered papers, apparently none the worse for the encounter, whilst Anderton was admonishing the half-breed.
"You're a nice lot, Chigmok. Winged as you are, I thought you were quite safe. Now you force me to tie you up, savvy?"
He promptly proceeded to do so, whilst Ainley seated himself anew and looked up at Stane. "Thank you, Stane! The warning was more than I deserved from you!" Then he laughed bitterly. "The poor devil isn't to be blamed. I have merited what he meant to do, and you know it might have been the better way—for me."
Stane looked at him not knowing what to reply. There was something about Ainley that moved him to sudden pity. He looked like a man who had reached the end of hope and life, and his words were those of a man viewing his own end as a matter of no moment. "I'm sorry, Ainley!" said Stane awkwardly.
"So am I! But what's the use? There's no going back in life; a man can only go forward or——"
"Or what?" asked Stane.
"Or go out!" answered the other grimly.
"You are thinking of——"
"Better for you not to know, Stane. I'm going to do the straight thing for once in my life, as you will discover presently. Don't you worry about me. I am plumb at the end of things and I know it. But don't communicate any suspicions you may happen to have to Anderton. He has set up that precious duty of his as a fetish, worships it, as you heard. Think of Dandy Anderton of the old days on his knees at the shrine of duty!" He gave a little laugh, and then continued, "But I don't want to be offered on his altar, and I won't be. You can bank on that!" He broke off and looked towards Helen, hovering on the edge of the shadows. "If you've any sense, Stane, you'll go and persuade Helen to lie down and rest, she must be worn out by now!"
Stane nodded and turned away, and after a little more walking to and fro, Helen sought the tent, whilst Stane, after a word or two with Anderton and Jean Bènard, rolled himself in his sleeping furs, though with little hope of sleep. He lay awake some time and frequently opened his eyes to see Ainley still bent over his pocket-book, but presently drowsiness came over him. The last time his eyes alighted on Ainley the latter had ceased to write and was sitting staring into the fire with sombre eyes. Then sleep overtook him completely.