k it from the bank in the afternoon, where I had had
it on deposit, to pay for the team I bought. Milton's books will show
that. But you didn't find any sack I took when your bank was robbed--if
it was robbed," added the old man significantly.

"Of course, I knew you would have an alibi. Have you got one to explain
why you left town so suddenly the night the bank was robbed? Milton was
killed after midnight. Before morning you and your friend Elliot routed
out Ackroyd and bought a lot of supplies from him for a hurry-up trip.
You slipped around to the corral and hit the trail right into the
blizzard. Will you tell me why you were in such a hurry to get away, if
it wasn't to escape from the town where you had murdered a decent old
fellow who never had harmed a soul?"

"Sure I'll tell you." The black eyes of the little man snapped eagerly.
"I came so p. d. q. because that side pardner of mine Gordon Elliot
wouldn't let me wait till mornin'. He had a reason for leavin' town that
wouldn't wait a minute, one big enough to drive him right into the heart
of the blizzard. Me, I tagged along."

"I can guess his reason," jeered the Scotchman. "But I'd like to hear
you put a name to it."

Holt grinned maliciously and waved a hand toward the girl who was
pillowing the head of her lover. "The name of his reason is Sheba
O'Neill, but it's goin' to be Sheba Elliot soon, looks like."

"You mean--"

The little miner took the words triumphantly out of his mouth. He leaned
forward and threw them into the face of the man he hated. "I mean that
while you was dancin' and philanderin' with other women, Gordon Elliot
was buckin' a blizzard to save the life of the girl you both claimed
to love. He was mushin' into fifty miles of frozen hell while you was
fillin' up with potted grouse and champagne. Simultaneous with the lame
goose and the monkey singlestep you was doin,' this lad was windjammin'
through white drifts. He beat you at your own game, man. You're a bear
for the outdoor stuff, they tell me. You chew up a blizzard for
breakfast and throttle a pack of wolves to work up an appetite for
dinner. It's your specialty. All right. Take your hat off to that
chechacko who has just whaled you blind. He has outgamed you, Colby
Macdonald. You don't run in his class. I see he is holding his haid up
again. Give him another half-hour and he'd be ready to go to the mat
with you again."

The big Alaskan pushed away a fear that had been lingerin