he
worked at this, and by night had a rough sort of wooden ski that might
serve at need. With red-hot coals, during the long evening, she burned
holes in it through which to put the straps. The skin of the fox, cut
into long strips, would do for thongs. It would be a crude, primitive
device, but she thought that at a pinch she might travel a few miles
on it. To-morrow she would make a mate for it, she decided.

Except for the bed of balsam boughs, her arrangements for the night
were just as they had been the first day. Again she built up a big
fire, piled the wood in front of the door, and put the rifle within
reach. Again she was asleep almost at once, within a minute of the
time when she nestled down to find a soft spot in the springy mattress
she had made.

Jessie worked hard on the second ski. By noon she had it pretty well
shaped. Unfortunately a small split in the wood developed into a
larger one. She was forced to throw it aside and begin on another
piece.

A hundred times her eyes had lifted to sweep the snow field for any
sign of the hunters' return. Now, looking out of the window without
much expectation of seeing them, her glance fell on a traveler, a
speck of black on a sea of white. Her heart began to beat a drum of
excitement. She waited, eyes riveted, expecting to see a second figure
and a dog-team top the rise and show in silhouette.

None appeared. The man advanced steadily. He did not look backward.
Evidently he had no companion. Was this lone traveler West?

Jessie picked up the rifle and made sure that it was in good working
order. A tumultuous river seemed to beat through her temples. The
pulses in her finger-tips were athrob.

Could she do this dreadful thing, even to save honor and life, though
she knew the man must be twice a murderer? Once she had tried and
failed, while he stood taunting her with his horrible, broken-toothed
grin. And once, in the stress of battle, she had wounded him while he
was attacking.

The moving black speck became larger. It came to her presently with
certainty that this was not West. He moved more gracefully, more
lightly, without the heavy slouching roll.... And then she knew he was
not Whaley either. One of her friends! A little burst of prayer welled
out of her heart.

She left the cabin and went toward the man. He waved a hand to her and
she flung up a joyful gesture in answer. For her rescuer was Onistah.

Jessie found herself with both hands in his, b