hat he
already had a grudge against the young Indian that he would be glad to
pay once for all.

Jessie's one hope was that Onistah would hasten to the rescue. Yet she
dreaded the moment of his coming. He was a gentle soul, one of Father
Giguere's converts. It was altogether likely that he would walk into
the camp of the escaped convict openly and become a victim of the
murderer's guile. Onistah did not lack courage. He would fight if he
had to do so. Indeed, she knew that he would go through fire to save
her. But bravery was not enough. She could almost have wished that her
foster-brother was as full of devilish treachery as the huge ape-man
slouching at her heels. Then the chances of the battle would be more
even.

The desperado drove her down into the muskeg, directing the girl's
course with a flow of obscene and ribald profanity.

It is doubtful if she heard him. As her lithe, supple limbs carried
her from one moss hump to another, she was busy with the problem of
escape. She must get away soon. Every hour increased the danger. The
sun would sink shortly. If she were still this ruffian's prisoner
when the long Arctic night fell, she would suffer the tortures of the
damned. She faced the fact squarely, though her cheeks blanched at the
prospect and the heart inside her withered.

From the sloping side of a hummock her foot slipped and she slid into
the icy bog to her knees. Within a few minutes duffles and leggings
were frozen and she was suffering at each step.

Out of the muskeg they came into the woods. A flake of snow fell on
Jessie's cheek and chilled her blood. For she knew that if it came on
to snow before Onistah took the trail or even before he reached the
place to which West was taking her, the chances of a rescue would be
very much diminished. A storm would wipe out the tracks they had made.

"Swing back o' the rock and into the brush," West growled. Then, as
she took the narrow trail through the brush that had grown up among
half a dozen small down trees, he barked a question: "Whadjasay yore
Injun name was?"

"My name is Jessie McRae," she answered with a flash of angry pride.
"You know who I am--the daughter of Angus McRae. And if you do me any
harm, he'll hunt you down and kill you like a wolf."

He caught her by the arm and whirled the girl round. His big yellow
canines snapped like tusks and he snarled at her through clenched
jaws. "Did you hear yore master's voice? I said, what was yore sq