st. And,
finally, they would have seen him keep on the old dim trail that still
led south.

A trail did run up the creek, but so slight was it that they continually
lost it in the darkness. After a quarter of an hour, Joy Gastell was
willing to drop into the rear and let the two men take turns in breaking
a way through the snow. This slowness of the leaders enabled the whole
stampede to catch up, and when daylight came, at nine o'clock, as far
back as they could see was an unbroken line of men. Joy's dark eyes
sparkled at the sight.

"How long since we started up the creek?" she asked.

"Fully two hours," Smoke answered.

"And two hours back make four," she laughed. "The stampede from Sea Lion
is saved."

A faint suspicion crossed Smoke's mind, and he stopped and confronted
her.

"I don't understand," he said.

"You don't? Then I'll tell you. This is Norway Creek. Squaw Creek is the
next to the south."

Smoke was for the moment, speechless.

"You did it on purpose?" Shorty demanded.

"I did it to give the old-timers a chance." She laughed mockingly. The
men grinned at each other and finally joined her. "I'd lay you across
my knee an' give you a wallopin', if women folk wasn't so scarce in this
country," Shorty assured her.

"Your father didn't sprain a tendon, but waited till we were out of
sight and then went on?" Smoke asked.

She nodded.

"And you were the decoy?"

Again she nodded, and this time Smoke's laughter rang out clear and
true. It was the spontaneous laughter of a frankly beaten man.

"Why don't you get angry with me?" she queried ruefully. "Or--or wallop
me?"

"Well, we might as well be starting back," Shorty urged. "My feet's
gettin' cold standin' here."

Smoke shook his head. "That would mean four hours lost. We must be eight
miles up this creek now, and from the look ahead Norway is making a long
swing south. We'll follow it, then cross over the divide somehow, and
tap Squaw Creek somewhere above Discovery." He looked at Joy. "Won't you
come along with us? I told your father we'd look after you."

"I--" She hesitated. "I think I shall, if you don't mind." She was
looking straight at him, and her face was no longer defiant and mocking.
"Really, Mr. Smoke, you make me almost sorry for what I have done. But
somebody had to save the old-timers."

"It strikes me that stampeding is at best a sporting proposition."

"And it strikes me you two are very game about it," she went on, th