e growing anger toward each other that
consumed them. They rarely spoke. Neither of them let the other drop
behind him. Neither had slept a wink the previous night. Instead, they
had kept themselves awake with hot tea. Fagged out after a day of hard
hunting, each was convinced his life depended on wakefulness. West's
iron strength had stood the strain without any outward signs of
collapse, but Whaley was stumbling with fatigue as he dragged himself
along beside the sled.

The bad feeling between the partners was near the explosion point. It
was bound to come before the fugitive started on his long trip north.
The fellow had a single-track mind. He still intended to take the girl
with him. When Whaley interfered, there would be a fight. It could not
come too soon to suit West. His brooding had reached the point where
he was morally certain that the gambler meant to betray him to the
police and set them on his track.

Smoke was rising from the chimney of the hut. No doubt the McRae girl
was inside, waiting for them with a heart of fear fluttering in
her bosom. Whaley's thin lips set grimly. Soon now it would be a
show-down.

There was a moment's delay at the door, each hanging back under
pretense of working at the sled. There was always the chance that the
one who went first might get a shot in the back.

West glanced at the big mittens on the other's hands, laughed hardily,
and pushed into the cabin. A startled grunt escaped him.

"She's gone," he called out.

"Probably in the woods back here--rabbit-shooting likely. She can't
have gone far without snowshoes," Whaley said.

The big man picked up the ski Jessie had made. "Looky here."

Whaley examined it. "She might have made a pair of 'em and got away.
Hope so."

The yellow teeth of the convict showed in a snarl. "Think I don't see
yore game? Playin' up to McRae an' the red-coats. I wouldn't put it by
you to sell me out."

The gambler's ice-cold eyes bored into West. Was it to be now?

West was not quite ready. His hands were cold and stiff. Besides, the
other was on guard and the fugitive was not looking for an even break.

"Oh, well, no use rowin' about that. I ain't gonna chew the rag with
you. It'll be you one way an' me another pretty soon," he continued,
shifty eyes dodging.

"About the girl--easy to find out, I say. She sure didn't fly away.
Must 'a' left tracks. We'll take a look-see."

Again Whaley waited deferentially, with a sardonic and mirt