"You next, Brochet!" he panted.
But there was sacrifice in the priest's eye. Men with torches were all about the building. In a moment or two they would break in.
"Brochet! You next!"
"No, no, my son. Good-bye, and go. There is no time for both."
"You next, I said," roared Dunvegan. He leaped and seized the priest bodily.
"Leave me, son!" Brochet tried to throw off the rope. "Your place is with Desirée. They will not harm me."
Dunvegan whipped the cable over the priest's head and took a turn under his armpits. "Harm you! They would rend you bone from bone. Black Ferguson knows you now for an imposter. Into the chute you go!"
The building shook under the assault of the trappers and Crees. The rafters rang with Ferguson's shouts as he urged the men on. Axe-blades bit through the barred door.
The chief trader put forth his strength to steady Brochet's descent. He was much heavier than Desirée, and the brunt of the drag came just when he occupied the mouth of the chute before the rope could be eased over the pulley. As the priest's head was disappearing, he cast up his eyes and Dunvegan saw spring into them an intense horror.
"Look!" he shrieked. "Look!" and vanished down the pipe.