rriedly in the cold confusion, slashing at the detaining traces
with their sheath-knives. Then they fought their way to the bank through
swirling water and grinding ice, where, foremost in leaping to the rescue
among the jarring fragments, was the Kid.

"Why, blime me, if it ain't Montana Kid!" exclaimed one of the men whom
the Kid was just placing upon his feet at the top of the bank. He wore
the scarlet tunic of the Mounted Police and jocularly raised his right
hand in salute.

"Got a warrant for you, Kid," he continued, drawing a bedraggled paper
from his breast pocket, "an' I 'ope as you'll come along peaceable."

Montana Kid looked at the chaotic river and shrugged his shoulders, and
the policeman, following his glance, smiled.

"Where are the dogs?" his companion asked.

"Gentlemen," interrupted the policeman, "this 'ere mate o' mine is Jack
Sutherland, owner of Twenty-Two Eldorado--"

"Not Sutherland of '92?" broke in the snow-blinded Minook man, groping
feebly toward him.

"The same." Sutherland gripped his hand.

"And you?"

"Oh, I'm after your time, but I remember you in my freshman year,--you
were doing P. G. work then. Boys," he called, turning half about, "this
is Sutherland, Jack Sutherland, erstwhile full-back on the 'Varsity. Come
up, you gold-chasers, and fall upon him! Sutherland, this is
Greenwich,--played quarter two seasons back."

"Yes, I read of the game," Sutherland said, shaking hands. "And I
remember that big run of yours for the first touchdown."

Greenwich flushed darkly under his tanned skin and awkwardly made room
for another.

"And here's Matthews,--Berkeley man. And we've got some Eastern cracks
knocking about, too. Come up, you Princeton men! Come up! This is
Sutherland, Jack Sutherland!"

Then they fell upon him heavily, carried him into camp, and supplied him
with dry clothes and numerous mugs of black tea.

Donald and Davy, overlooked, had retired to their nightly game of crib.
Montana Kid followed them with the policeman.

"Here, get into some dry togs," he said, pulling them from out his scanty
kit. "Guess you'll have to bunk with me, too."

"Well, I say, you're a good 'un," the policeman remarked as he pulled on
the other man's socks. "Sorry I've got to take you back to Dawson, but I
only 'ope they won't be 'ard on you."

"Not so fast." The Kid smiled curiously. "We ain't under way yet. When
I go I'm going down river, and I guess the chances are