yes, overhung by shaggy brows. Jolly Roger
felt the intentness of their gaze as he gave the girl a swallow of the
brandy, and then passed the flask to Porter.

"You have saved our lives," said Tavish, in a voice that was clearer.
"I don't just understand how it happened. I remember stumbling in the
darkness, and being unable to rise. I was behind the sledge. Porter and
Breault were dragging it, and Josephine, my daughter, was sheltered
under the blankets. After that--"

He paused, and Jolly Roger explained how it all had come about. He
pointed to Peter. It was the dog, he said. Peter had insisted there was
someone outside, and they had taken a chance by going in search of
them. He was John Cummings, a fox trapper, and the storm had caught him
fifty miles from his cabin. He was traveling without a dog-sledge, and
had only a pack-outfit.

Breault, the third man, had regained his wind, and was listening to
him. One look at his dark, thin face told McKay that he was the
wilderness man of the three. He was staring at Jolly Roger in a strange
sort of way. And then, as if catching himself, he nodded, and began
rubbing his frosted face with handfuls of snow.

Porter had thrown off his heavy coat, and was unpacking one of the
dunnage sacks. He and the girl seemed to have suffered less than the
other two. Jo, the girl, was looking at him. And then her eyes turned
to Jolly Roger. They were large, fine eyes, wide open and clear now.
There was something of splendid strength about her as she smiled at
McKay. She was not of the hysterical sort. He could see that.

"If we could have some hot soup," she suggested. "May we?"

There was gratitude in her eyes, which she made no attempt to express
in words. Jolly Roger liked her. And Peter crept up behind her, and
watched her as she followed Breault's example, and rubbed the cheeks of
the bearded man with snow.

"There's an alcohol stove in the other pack," said Breault, with his
hard, narrow eyes fixed steadily on Jolly Roger's face. "By the way,
what did you say your name was?"

"Cummings--John Cummings."

Breault made no answer. During the next half hour Jolly Roger felt
stealing over him a growing sense of uneasiness. They drank soup and
ate bannock. It grew warm, and the girl threw off the heavy fur garment
that enveloped her. Color returned into her cheeks. Her eyes were
bright, and in her voice was a tremble of happiness at finding warmth
and life where she had expected de