and mysterious about the man, and the
girl would cut herself short in the middle of a laugh if he happened
to speak, and the softness of her mouth would harden in an instant. He
understood the significance of her gladness, and of Porter's, for twice
he saw their hands come together, and their fingers entwine. And in
their eyes was something which they could not hide when they looked at
each other. But Breault puzzled him. He did not know that Breault
was the best man-hunter in "N" Division, which reached from Athabasca
Landing to the Arctic Ocean, or that up and down the two thousand-mile
stretch of the Three River Country he was known as Shingoos, the Ferret.

The girl fell asleep first that night, with her cheek on her father's
shoulder. Breault, the Ferret, rolled himself in a blanket, and breathed
deeply. Porter still smoked his pipe, and looked wistfully at the pale
face of Josephine Tavish. He smiled a bit proudly at McKay.

"She's mine," he whispered. "We're going to be married."

Jolly Roger wanted to reach over and grip his hand.

He nodded, a little lump coming in his throat.

"I know how you feel," he said. "When I heard her calling out there--it
made me think--of a girl down south."

"Down south?" queried Porter. "Why down south--if you care for her--and
you up here?"

McKay shrugged his shoulders. He had said too much. Neither he nor
Porter knew that Breault's eyes were half open, and that he was
listening.

Jolly Roger held up a hand, as if something in the wailing of the storm
had caught his attention.

"We'll have two or three days of this. Better turn in, Porter. I'm going
to dig out another room--for Miss Tavish. I'm afraid she'll need the
convenience of a private room before we're able to move. It's an easy
job--and passes the time away."

"I'll help," offered Porter.

For an hour they worked, using McKay's snowshoes as shovels. During that
hour Breault did not close his eyes. A curious smile curled his thin
lips as he watched Jolly Roger. And when at last Porter turned in, and
slept, the Ferret sat up, and stretched himself. McKay had finished his
room, and was beginning a tunnel which would lead as a back door out of
the drift, when Breault came in and picked up the snowshoe which Porter
had used.

"I'll take my turn," he said. "I'm a bit nervous, and not at all sleepy,
Cummings." He began digging into the snow. "Been long in this country?"
he asked.

"Three winters. It's a good re