grouping of ax-hewn furniture; a smoldering fire in a clay-daubed fireplace; the pent-in odors of camp stew and wood smoke and steaming garments. A man with a shaggy beard knelt by the fire stirring a cooking pot. He whirled at the rush of cold air from the doorway, and then his stirring spoon rattled on the hearth as he stumbled to his feet.

Corporal Dexter had counted on the chance of there being more than one person in the cabin. And it was well for him that he was on his guard. Some intuitive faculty of the brain served the warning, and without seeing or hearing, he was aware of a gliding movement along the wall at his right. He caught the edge of the door and swung it back towards him as a buckler of defense. As he jerked his head aside a spurt of flame scorched his face, an explosive report slammed in his ears, a bullet plowed the door slab and deflected in spattering pieces.

His face stung from the flying splinters, and there was a trickle of blood at the corner of his eye. Choked by powder fumes, half blinded, he flung the door against the wall. A crouching shape and the oval of a white face loomed in the smoke. He caught the blurred outline of a hand, and a pistol poked almost into his face. Lacking time to shorten the reach of his carbine, he did not try to fire, but struck, instead, with the heavy barrel.

The rap of the steel on knuckle bones gave a crisp, nut-cracking sound. He laughed aloud. There was a thump at his feet, and he saw the pistol on the floor. He could reach the weapon with the toe of his boot, and he worked it towards him and kicked it through the doorway. Then he backed away a pace, with carbine leveled. He spoke with restraint, keeping the excitement from his voice. "Take warning," he said. "I arrest you in the name of His Majesty, the King."

The light from the fireplace reflected upon the shadowy figure of his assailant. The man had clutched at his right hand with his left, and was glaring at the officer with the tense, sullen ferocity of a trapped animal. The position of the hands, partly extended, gripped together in pain, gave unwitting invitation. In a trice Dexter had brought a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. With incredible swiftness he reached forward, and there was a double snick as he linked the steel circlets about the man's wrists and sprang fast the locking wards.

The prisoner shuddered at the cold touch of metal, and shrank backward, an instant too late. He was an under-sized man, sallow of face, with short-cropped black hair, sharp, hawklike features, and dark, 

 Prev. P 7/195 next