Here is food and water for a week, and furs for your bed.

Now I will cut those thongs about your wrists." "Do you mean to say you're going to leave me here alone--in this wretched prison ?" cried Howland.
"_Mon Dieu_, is it not better than a grave, M'seur?
I will be back at the end of a week." The door was partly open and for the last time there came to Howland's ears the mourning howl of the old dog on the mountain top.

Almost threateningly he gripped Croisset's arm.
"Jean--if you don't come back--what will happen ?" He heard the half-breed chuckling.
"You will die, M'seur, pleasantly and taking your own time at it, which is much better than dying over a case of dynamite.

But I will come back, M'seur.

Good-by!" Again the door was closed and bolted and the sound of Croisset's footsteps quickly died away beyond the log walls.