The quartered section of tree trunk was as much as his strength could manage, but he lugged it back to the cabin and contrived to swing it as a ram. The first and second blows seemed to have little effect on the stoutly barred door, but the continued battering began to tell. Finally he heard a splintering crack within, and at last something gave way entirely, and the door broke from its frame and sprang open with a crash. He dropped his log and stepped across the threshold, his narrowed eyes searching the gloom of the smoke-filled room.

The hearth fire had dwindled down to a few smoldering coals that threw a dull red shimmer to the opposite wall. But beyond the faint streak of light, the darkness was impenetrable. An ominous silence surcharged the oppressive, tainted atmosphere.

Baxter's finger was on the trigger of his carbine as he held impassive, listening for some rustle of sound to locate an intruding presence. He knew that his figure loomed in silhouette against the dim glowing hearth, and he was keenly alive to the imminence of danger. At any instant he might see the flash, hear the crash of a shot fired treacherously from the darkness; and he steeled himself unconsciously to the shock of sudden hurt.

His weapon was balanced lightly at his hip, and with his free hand he drew out his pocket lamp. The shaft of light struck across the room, throwing its brilliant white bull's-eye upon the bunks. He looked, and his eyes dilated at the ugly sight before him.

Fallen backwards, half in and half out of the bunk, Mudgett hung feet uppermost, his head and shoulders resting on the floor, his ankles still tied to the foot logs, as the corporal had left him. His long, matted hair had tumbled back from his temples, and he gazed up at the ceiling with unmoving eyes that shone with the luster of opaque glass. His hands were still bound together by the elkskin thong. From under his shoulders a dark tinged stain trickled and spread upon the floor.

Automatically, as a man acting in a daze, Dexter shifted his light upward. The higher bunk was still occupied by the man without a name. He was lying on his side, still and lifeless, his manacled arms dangling limply over the edge of the bunk. His feet were securely tied to the end post, and so, like Mudgett, he had met his fate while helplessly fettered, tethered like a sheep for slaughter, without a chance of fighting back.

The fierce dark eyes were closed, and the bitter lines of malice somehow had been erased from his pallid 

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