George Tracy Marsh

“ Frantic and white with sudden fear, the breed fought the sinewy wrist advancing inexorably on its grim mission. In short jerks, Marcel hunched the knife toward its goal. The knotted features of the one who felt death creeping to him, inch by inch, went gray. The hand gripping Marcel’s dripped with sweat. Panting hoarsely, like a beast at bay, the thief twisted and writhed from the pitiless steel. Then in his ears rang the voice of the approaching hunter. With a cry of despair, the doomed half-breed called to the man who had come too late. Already the knuckles of Marcel were high on his ribs. ”

“ As for the man who was coming, when he found his dead partner, fear of an ambush would prevent him from following their trail.
Reaching his canoe, Jean divided a goose with Fleur and, when it became dark, started for East Point. That the half-breed’s partner would attempt to follow him and seek revenge he had no doubt. With the shotgun alone, though—Jean had thrown away the only rifle at their camp—the thief’s sole chance would be to stalk Marcel while he slept. But as the sea was flat and the tide ebbing, Jean was confident that daylight would find him well up the coast toward Point Comfort. ”

“ Jean smiled grimly, for the thief would have only his shotgun loaded with fine shot, for large shot is not used for geese in the North. Hurriedly searching the tent, he found a rifle which he threw into the rushes; then he loosed Fleur. The approaching half-breed was in his power. But Jean wanted no prisoner. To stay and beat this man as Fleur had been beaten, would have been sweet, but of blood he had had enough. For an instant his eyes rested on the ghastly evidence of his visit, awaiting the return of the hunter, then he took Fleur and started across the marsh to his canoe. ”