e not," Jake agreed with a grin. "I reckon a bad cook is as
dangerous as a bad shot. If you miss with a gun, you have done no
harm, but I've eaten bannocks that get you every time."

When he had finished he hung the gun to the tent pole and went off, but
Carrie took it down, and carefully opened and shut the breech. After
doing so once or twice, she was satisfied and put back the gun. Then
she went to a little bark store where their food was kept, and picking
up a bag of flour that had been opened, weighed it in her hand. It was
lighter than it ought to be, and this had happened before. Next she
examined a piece of salt pork and imagined that some had gone, while
when she carefully looked about she noted a few tea leaves on the floor.

Carrie did not think she had spilt the tea, and knitted her brows.
Somebody had been stealing food, but the man had not taken much and had
tried to do so in a way that would prevent its being missed. For
example, he had gone to the flour bag twice and had cut the pork from
both sides of the slab. Carrie thought this significant, but resolved
to say nothing.

CHAPTER VIII

JIM KEEPS WATCH

The night was not cold and Jim had some trouble to keep awake as he sat
with his back against a tree a short distance above the mended line.
He had dug out a track and built a new wall to hold up the stones, and
in the morning the camp would be moved. Now he was very tired, but he
meant to watch for another night.

There was a half moon and puzzling lights and shadows checkered the
hill. In some places the trees rose like scattered spires; in others
they rolled down the slope in blurred dark masses. Behind the woods
snowy mountains cut against the sky. The dim landscape was desolate
and savagely grand. It had the strange half-finished look one notes in
Canada.

In order to banish his drowsiness, Jim gave himself up to wandering
memories. He knew the North, where he had risked and endured much. He
had seen the tangled pines snap under their load of snow and go down in
rows before the Arctic gales; he had watched the ice break up and the
liberated floods hurl the floes into the forest. He had crossed the
barren tundra where only moss can live and the shallow bog that steams
in summer rests on frozen soil.

Raging blizzards, snowslides, crevassed glaciers and rotten ice were
things he knew; there were scars on his body he had got in stubborn
fights. So far he had conquered;