was not permitted to reach it. Keeko's voice rang stridently
amongst the rafters of the place.

"Stop!"

Nicol stopped and turned.

"You can stop right there," the girl said coldly. "I'm going right out.
I'm quitting. You best understand that. I'm quitting, and I'm taking my
outfit with me. I don't pass another night under this roof. You best
remember I've all I need to fight you. If you get out after me you'll
get shot like the dog you are. So you best think--hard."

Keeko moved towards the door. Not for one moment did she turn her back,
or lower her gun. And the man's furious eyes followed her till the slam
of the door shut her out from his view.

For awhile Nicol remained staring at the dark timbers of the closed
door. For awhile it seemed as if his bemused brain failed to grasp the
meaning of that which had happened. Then he turned swiftly. He reached
the counter and drained the bottle of the last dregs of the spirit it
contained. Then, reaching under the counter, he possessed himself of the
gun that was always lying there, and made for the door and flung it
open.

He stood in the doorway seeking a sight of the girl he had marked down
for his own. But there was none. She was nowhere to be seen. Only he
looked out upon, the snow, and the woods, and the ice-bound river. So,
after awhile, he seemed to change his mind. He closed the door and
returned to the stove and seated himself on the bench beside it.

* * * * *

Keeko was with her Indians at work. Snake Foot, and Med'cine Charlie,
and Little One Man were working as they always worked for the white
woman they loved.

The outfit with which they had returned from Seal Bay was changed. The
dogs were fresh, and the long sled was laden with a canoe that was
securely lashed to it. The blankets and stores were loaded in the frail
body of the light vessel.

Keeko's plan was clear in her mind, and urgency was speeding her efforts
and the efforts of her helpers. She had only one thought now. It
was--Marcel. She knew. Oh, yes. There could be no doubt. For her there
was only one Marcel. There could be no other. It was Nicol's purpose to
murder him and his people. It was for her to defeat that purpose.

Daylight was at its last extremity when the work was completed. And,
while Keeko enveloped herself in her heavy Arctic furs, and secured the
lashings of her snow-shoes, Little One Man put the only question he had
asked as to the journe