in what would have been the early dawn outside the snow-dune. McKay felt
his restless movement, and opened his eyes. A faint light was illumining
his room, and he sat up. In the outer room the alcohol lamp was burning
again. He could hear movement, and voices that were very low and
indistinct. Carefully he dug out once more the little hole in the snow
wall, and widened the slit.

Breault and Tavish were asleep, but Porter was sitting up, and close
beside him sat the girl. Her coiled hair was loosened, and fallen over
her shoulders. There was no sign of drowsiness in her wide-open eyes as
they stared at the door between the two rooms. McKay could see her hand
clasping Porter's arm. Porter was talking, with his face so close to her
bent head that his lips touched her hair, and though Jolly Roger could
understand no word that was spoken he knew Porter was whispering the
exciting secret of his identity to Josephine Tavish. He could see, for
a moment, a shadow of protest in her face, he could hear the quick,
sibilant whisper of her voice, and Porter cautioned her with a finger
at her lips, and made a gesture toward the sleeping Tavish. Then his
fingers closed about her uncoiled hair as he drew her to him. McKay
watched the long kiss between them. The girl drew away quickly then, and
Porter tucked the blanket about her when she lay down beside her father.
After that he stretched out again beside Breault.

Jolly Roger guessed what had happened. The girl had awakened, a bit
nervous, and had roused Porter and asked him to relight the alcohol
lamp. And Porter had taken advantage of the opportunity to tell her of
the interesting discovery which Breault had made--and to kiss her. McKay
stroked Peter's scrawny neck, and listened. He could no longer hear the
storm, and he wondered if the fury of it was spent.

Every few minutes he looked through the slit in the snow wall. The last
time, half an hour after Porter had returned to his blanket, Josephine
Tavish was sitting up. She was very wide awake. McKay watched her as she
rose slowly to her knees, and then to her feet. She bent over Porter and
Breault to make sure they were asleep, and then came straight toward the
door of his room.

He lay back on his blanket, with the fingers of one hand gripped closely
about Peter.

"Be quiet, boy," he whispered. "Be quiet."

He could see the shutting out of light at his door as the girl stood
there, listening for his breathing. He breathe