Frona's companion pointed ahead to where
the walls receded and wrinkled to a gorge, out of which the sleds drew
the firewood across the river to town. "I shall leave you there," she
concluded.

"But are you not going back to Dawson?" Frona queried. "It is growing
late, and you had better not linger."

"No . . . I . . ."

Her painful hesitancy brought Frona to a realization of her own
thoughtlessness. But she had made the step, and she knew she could not
retrace it.

"We will go back together," she said, bravely. And in candid
all-knowledge of the other, "I do not mind."

Then it was that the blood surged into the woman's cold face, and her
hand went out to the girl in the old, old way.

"No, no, I beg of you," she stammered. "I beg of you . . . I . . . I
prefer to continue my walk a little farther. See! Some one is coming
now!"

By this time they had reached the wood-trail, and Frona's face was
flaming as the other's had flamed. A light sled, dogs a-lope and
swinging down out of the gorge, was just upon them. A man was running
with the team, and he waved his hand to the two women.

"Vance!" Frona exclaimed, as he threw his lead-dogs in the snow and
brought the sled to a halt. "What are you doing over here? Is the
syndicate bent upon cornering the firewood also?"

"No. We're not so bad as that." His face was full of smiling
happiness at the meeting as he shook hands with her. "But Carthey is
leaving me,--going prospecting somewhere around the North Pole, I
believe,--and I came across to look up Del Bishop, if he'll serve."

He turned his head to glance expectantly at her companion, and she saw
the smile go out of his face and anger come in. Frona was helplessly
aware that she had no grip over the situation, and, though a rebellion
at the cruelty and injustice of it was smouldering somewhere deep down,
she could only watch the swift culmination of the little tragedy. The
woman met his gaze with a half-shrinking, as from an impending blow,
and with a softness of expression which entreated pity. But he
regarded her long and coldly, then deliberately turned his back. As he
did this, Frona noted her face go tired and gray, and the hardness and
recklessness of her laughter were there painted in harsh tones, and a
bitter devil rose up and lurked in her eyes. It was evident that the
same bitter devil rushed hotly to her tongue. But it chanced just then
that she glanced at Frona, and all expres