On their way from the shed to the muskeg Lablache had seen the reflection of the fire at his store in the sky. Gautier had taken devilish satisfaction in telling the wretched man of what had been done—mouthing the details in the manner of one who finds joy in cruelty. He remembered past injuries, and reveled in the money-lender's agony.
After a toilsome journey the Breeds halted at the point where the path divided into three. Jacky and Bill sat on their horses and watched the scene. Then, slowly, something of Baptiste's intention was borne in upon them.
Jacky reached out and touched her lover's arm.
"Bill, what are they going to do?"
She asked the question. But the answer was already with her. Her companion remained silent. She did not repeat her question.
Then she heard Baptiste's raucous tones as he issued his commands.
"Loose his hands!"
Jacky watched Lablache's face in the dim starlight. It was ghastly. The whole figure of the man seemed to have shrunk. The wretched man stood free, and yet more surely a prisoner than any criminal in a condemned cell.
The uncertain light of the stars showed only the dark expanse of the mire upon all sides. In the distance, ahead, the mountains were vaguely outlined against the sky; behind and around, nothing but that awful death-trap. Jacky had lived all her life beside the muskeg, but never, until that moment, had she realized the awful terror of its presence.
Now Baptiste again commanded.