Slowly Howland raised his revolver.

“Once more, Croisset—­will you tell me?”

“Non, M’seur—­”

A deafening explosion filled the little cabin.  From the lobe of Jean’s ear there ran a red trickle of blood.  His face had gone deathly pale.  But even as the bullet had stung him within an inch of his brain he had not flinched.

“Will you tell me, Croisset?”

This time the black pit of the engineer’s revolver centered squarely between the Frenchman’s eyes.

“Non, M’seur.”

The eyes of the two men met over the blue steel.  With a cry Howland slowly lowered his weapon.

“Good God, but you’re a brave man, Jean Croisset!” he cried.  “I’d sooner kill a dozen men that I know than you!”

He rose to his feet and went to the door.  There was still but little snow in the air.  To the north the horizon was growing black with the early approach of the northern night.  With a nervous laugh he returned to Jean.

“Deuce take it if I don’t feel like apologizing to you,” he exclaimed.  “Does your ear hurt?”

“No more than if I had scratched it with a thorn,” returned Jean politely.  “You are good with the pistol, M’seur.”

“I would not profit by killing you—­just now,” mused Howland, seating himself again on the box and resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he looked across at the other.  “But that’s a pretty good intimation that I’m desperate and mean business, Croisset.  We won’t quarrel about the things I’ve asked you.  What I’m here for is to see Meleese.  Now—­how is that to happen?”

“For the life of me I don’t know,” replied Jean, as calmly as though a bullet had not nipped the edge of his ear a moment before.  “There is only one way I can see, M’seur, and that is to wait and watch from this mountain top until Meleese drives out her dogs.  She has her own team, and in ordinary seasons frequently goes out alone or with one of the women at the post. Mon Dieu, she has had enough sledge-riding of late, and I doubt if she will find pleasure in her dogs for a long time.”

“I had planned to use you,” said Howland, “but I’ve lost faith in you.  Honestly, Croisset, I believe you would stick me in the back almost as quickly as those murderers down there.”  “Not in the back, M’seur,” smiled the Frenchman, unmoved.  “I have had opportunities to do that. Non, since that fight back there I do not believe that I want to kill you.”

“But I would be a fool to trust you.  Isn’t that so?”

“Not if I gave you my word.  That is something we do not break up here as you do down among the Wekusko people, and farther south.”

“But you murder people for pastime—­eh, my dear Jean?”

Croisset shrugged his shoulders without speaking.

“See here, Croisset,” said Howland with sudden earnestness, “I’m almost tempted to take a chance with you.  Will you go down to the post to-night, in some way gain access to Meleese, and give her a message from me?”