ened his eyes Mrs. Olson was calling
him to rise.

He dressed and stepped out into the cold, crisp morning. From the hill
crotch the sun was already pouring down a great, fanlike shaft of light
across the snow vista. Swiftwater Pete passed behind him on his way to
the stable and called a cheerful good-morning in his direction.

Mrs. Olson had put the stove outside the tent and Gordon lifted it to
the spot where they did the cooking.

"Good-morning, neighbor," he called to Sheba. "Sleep well?"

The little rustling sounds within the tent ceased. A face appeared in
the doorway, the flaps drawn discreetly close beneath the chin.

"Never better. Is my breakfast ready yet?"

"Come and help me make it. Mrs. Olson is waiting on Holt."

"When I'm dressed." The smiling face disappeared. "Dublin Bay" sounded
in her fresh young voice from the tent. Gordon joined in the song as he
lit the fire and sliced bacon from a frozen slab of it.

The howling of the huskies interrupted the song. They had evidently
heard something that excited them. Gordon listened. Was it in his fancy
only that the breeze carried to him the faint jingle of sleigh-bells?
The sound, if it was one, died away. The cook turned to his job.

He stopped sawing at the meat, knife and bacon both suspended in the
air. On the hard snow there had come to him the crunch of a foot behind
him. Whose? Sheba was in the tent, Swiftwater at the stable, Mrs. Olson
in the house. Slowly he turned his head.

What Elliot saw sent the starch through his body. He did not move an
inch, still sat crouched by the fire, but every nerve was at tension,
every muscle taut. For he was looking at a rifle lying negligently in
brown, steady hands. They were very sure hands, very competent ones. He
knew that because he had seen them in action. The owner of the hands was
Colby Macdonald.

The Scotch-Canadian stood at the edge of a willow grove. His face was
grim as the day of judgment.

"Don't move," he ordered.

Elliot laughed irritably. He was both annoyed and disgusted.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"You."

"What's worrying you now? Do you think I'm jumping my bond?"

"You're going back to Kusiak with me--to give a life for the one you
took."

"What's that?" cried Gordon, surprised.

"Just as I'm telling you. I've been on your heels ever since you left
town. You and Holt are going back with me as my prisoners."

"But what for?"

"For robbing the bank and murdering R