rs before they could be freed.
When they staggered into the house with their packs, both men
were half-frozen. Their hands were so stiff that the fingers were
jointless.

They stopped only long enough to limber up the muscles. Whaley handed
to Jessie the revolver he had taken from West.

"Keep this," he said. His look was significant. It told her that in
the hunt for wood he might be blinded by the blizzard and lost. If he
failed to return and West came back alone, she would know what to do
with it.

Into the storm the two plunged a second time. They carried ropes and
an axe. Since West had arrived, the gale had greatly increased. The
wind now was booming in deep, sullen roars and the temperature had
fallen twenty degrees already. The sled dogs were nowhere to be seen
or heard. They had burrowed down into the snow where the house would
shelter them from the hurricane as much as possible.

The men reached the edge of the creek. They struggled in the frozen
drifts with such small dead trees as they could find. In the darkness
Whaley used the axe as best he could at imminent risk to his legs.
Though they worked only a few feet apart, they had to shout to make
their voices carry.

"We better be movin' back," West called through his open palms. "We
got all we can haul."

They roped the wood and dragged it over the snow in the direction
they knew the house to be. Presently they found the sled and from it
deflected toward the house.

Jessie had hot tea waiting for them. They kicked off their webs and
piled the salvaged wood into the other end of the cabin, after which
they hunkered down before the fire to drink tea and eat pemmican and
bannocks.

They had with them about fifty pounds of frozen fish for the dogs and
provisions enough to last the three of them four or five meals. Whaley
had brought West supplies enough to carry him only to Lookout, where
he was to stock for a long traverse into the wilds.

As the hours passed there grew up between the gambler and the girl a
tacit partnership of mutual defense. No word was spoken of it, but
each knew that the sulky brute in the chimney corner was dangerous. He
would be held by no scruples of conscience, no laws of friendship or
decency. If the chance came he would strike.

The storm raged and howled. It flung itself at the cabin with what
seemed a ravenous and implacable fury. The shriek of it was now
like the skirling of a thousand bagpipes, again like the wailing