olly Roger McKay, and send him back to the girl, it will
help out the law. Is that it, Breault? And is there any reward tacked to
it? Anything in it for me?"

Breault was looking at him in the pale light of the alcohol lamp,
puffing out tobacco smoke, and with that odd twist of a smile about his
thin lips.

"Listen to the storm," he said. "I think it's getting worse--Cummings!"

Suddenly he held out a hand to Peter, who sat near the lamp, his bright
eyes fixed watchfully on the stranger.

"Nice dog you have, Cummings. Come here, Peter! Peter--Peter--"

Tight fingers seemed to grip at McKay's throat. He had not spoken
Peter's name since the rescue of Breault.

"Peter--Peter--"

The Ferret was smiling affably. But Peter did not move. He made no
response to the outstretched hand. His eyes were steady and challenging.
In that moment McKay wanted to hug him up in his arms.

The Ferret laughed.

"He's a good dog, a very good dog, Cummings. I like a one-man dog, and
I also like a one-dog man. That's what Jolly Roger McKay is, if you ever
happen to meet him. Travels with one dog. An Airedale, with whiskers on
him like a Mormon. And his name is Peter. Funny name for a dog, isn't
it?"

He faced the outer room, stretching his long arms above his head.

"I'm going to try sleep again, Cummings. Goodnight! And--Mother of
Heaven!--listen to the wind."

"Yes, it's a bad night," said McKay.

He looked at Peter when Breault was gone, and his heart was beating
fast. He could hear the wind, too. It was sweeping over the Barren more
fiercely than before, and the sound of it brought a steely glitter into
his eyes. This time he could not run away from the law. Flight meant
death. And Breault knew it. He was in a trap--a trap built by himself.
That is, if Breault had guessed the truth, and he believed he had. There
was only one way out--and that meant fight.

He went into the outer room for his pack and a blanket. He did not look
at Breault, but he knew the man's narrow eyes were following him. He
left the alcohol lamp burning, but in his own room, after he had spread
out his bed, he extinguished the light. Then, very quietly, he dug a
hole through the snow partition between the two rooms. He waited for
ten minutes before he thrust a finger-tip through the last thin crust
of snow. With his eye close to the aperture he could see Breault. The
Ferret was sitting up, and leaning toward Porter, who was sleeping an
arm's length awa