O'Grady had gone
into the home that was almost his own and had robbed him of Marie. In
that fight in the forest he should have killed him. That would have been
justice, as he knew it. But he had relented, half for Marie's sake, and
half because he hated to take a human life, even though it were
O'Grady's. But this time there would be no relenting. He had come alone
to the top of the ridge to settle the last doubts with himself. Whoever
won out, there would be a fight. It would be a magnificent fight, like
that which his grandfather had fought and won for the honor of a woman
years and years ago. He was even glad that O'Grady was trying to rob him
of what he had searched for and found. There would be twice the justice
in killing him now. And it would be done fairly, as his grandfather had
done it.
Suddenly there came a piercing shout from the direction of the river,
followed by a wild call for him through Jackpine's moose-horn. He
answered the Cree's signal with a yell and tore down through the bush.
When he reached the foot of the ridge at the edge of the clearing he saw
the men, women and children of Porcupine City running to the river. In
front of the recorder's office stood Jackpine, bellowing through his
horn. O'Grady and his Indian were already shoving their canoe out into
the stream, and even as he looked there came a break in the line of
excited spectators, and through it hurried the agent toward the
recorder's cabin.
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