hless grin,
to let the other pass first. There were many tracks close to the cabin
where they themselves, as well as the girl, had moved to and fro.
Their roving glances went farther afield.

Plain as the swirling waters in the wake of a boat stretched the
tracks of a snowshoer across the lower end of the lake.

They pushed across to examine them closer, following them a dozen
yards to the edge of the ice-field. The sign written there on that
white page told a tale to both of the observers, but it said more to
one than to the other.

"Some one's been here," West cried with a startled oath.

"Yes," agreed Whaley. He did not intend to give any unnecessary
information.

"An' lit out again. Must 'a' gone to git help for the girl."

"Yes," assented the gambler, and meant "No."

What he read from the writing on the snow was this: Some one had come
and some one had gone. But the one who had come was not the one who
had gone. An Indian had made the first tracks. He could tell it by
the shape of the webs and by the way the traveler had toed in. The
outward-bound trail was different. Some one lighter of build was
wearing the snowshoes, some one who took shorter steps and toed out.

"See. She run out to meet him. Here's where her feet kept sinkin' in,"
West said.

The other nodded. Yes, she had hurried to meet him but that was not
all he saw. There was the impression of a knee in the snow. It was an
easy guess that the man had knelt to take off the shoes and adjust
them to the girl's feet.

"An' here's where she cut off into the woods," the convict went on.
"She's hidin' up there now. I'm hittin' the trail after her hot-foot."

Whaley's derisive smile vanished almost before it appeared. What he
knew was his own business. If West wanted to take a walk in the woods,
it was not necessary to tell him that a man was waiting for him there
behind some tree.

"Think I'll follow this fellow," Whaley said, with a lift of the hand
toward the tracks that led across the lake. "We've got to find out
where he went. If the Mounted are hot on our trail, we want to know
it."

"Sure." West assented craftily, eyes narrowed to conceal the thoughts
that crawled through his murderous brain. "We gotta know that."

He believed Whaley was playing into his hands. The man meant to betray
him to the police. He would never reach them. And he, Bully West,
would at last be alone with the girl, nobody to interfere with him.

The gambler was us