Lapierre nodded.  “Do you not see, Miss Elliston, that MacNair is trying by every means in his power to discredit me in your eyes?  Apatawa, the Indian you—­” Chloe shuddered as he paused, and he hastened on—­“The Indian who attempted to shoot MacNair, was originally one of MacNair’s own Indians—­one of the few who dared to desert him.  And, for the wrongs he had suffered, he had sworn to kill MacNair.”

“But, knowing that, why did LeFroy send him to the cottage?”

“That,” answered Lapierre gravely, “is something I do not know.  I must first question LeFroy, and if I find that he thus treacherously endangered the life of a wounded man, even though that man was MacNair, who is his enemy, and likewise my enemy, I will teach him a lesson he will not soon forget.”

Chloe heaved a sigh of relief.  “I am glad,” she breathed softly, “that you feel that way.”

“Could you doubt it?” asked the man.

Chloe hesitated.  “Yes,” she answered, “I did doubt it.  How could I help but doubt, when he warned me what would happen, and it all came about as he said?  I—­I could not help but believe him.  And now, one thing more.  Can you tell me why MacNair’s Indians are willing to fight to the death to save him from harm?  If the things you tell me are true, and I know that they are true, because during the summer I have questioned many of MacNair’s Indians, and they all tell the same story; why do they fight for him?”

Lapierre considered.  “That is one of those things,” he answered, “that men cannot explain.  It is because of his hold upon them.  Great generals have had it—­this power to sway men—­to command them to certain death, even though those men cursed the very ground their commanders stood upon.  MacNair is a powerful personality.  In all the North there is not his equal.  I cannot explain it.  It is a psychological problem none can explain.  For, although his Indians hate him, they make no attempt to free themselves from his yoke, and they will fight to the death in defense of him.”

“It is hard to believe,” answered Chloe, “hard to understand.  And yet, I think I do understand.  He said of my grandfather, as he looked into the eyes of his portrait on the wall:  ’He was a fighter.  He won to victory over the bodies of his enemies.’  That is MacNair’s idea of greatness.”

Lapierre nodded, and when he looked into the face of the girl he noted that her eyes flashed with purpose.

“Tell me,” she continued almost sharply, “you are not afraid of MacNair?”

For just an instant Lapierre hesitated.  “No!” he answered.  “I am not afraid.”

Chloe leaned toward him eagerly and placed a hand upon his arm, while her eyes seemed to search his very thoughts.  “Then you will go with me to Snare Lake—­to carry our war into the heart of the enemy’s country?”

“To Snare Lake!” gasped the man.

“Yes, to Snare Lake.  I shall never rest now until MacNair’s power over these poor savages is broken forever.  Until they are free from the yoke of oppression.”