smoke his pipe. Slowly the golden-brown eyes of Butler contracted, and into his pale, handsome, but sinister face crept a slight colour.

“So you are Boyd!” he said menacingly.

“Yes, I am Boyd. What next?”

“What next?” repeated Walter Butler. “Well, really I don’t know, my impudent friend, but I strongly suspect the Seneca stake will come next.”

Boyd laughed: “We gave Brant a sign that you also should recognize. We are now under his protection.”

“What sign?” demanded Butler, his eyes becoming yellow and fixed. And, as Boyd carelessly repeated the rapid and mystical appeal, “Oh!” he said coolly. “So that is what you count on, is it?”