t the ears that he did
not hear Philip's cautious footsteps behind him. When he turned he found
the muzzle of a revolver within arm's length of his face.

"Hands up!" commanded Philip.

The astonished man obeyed without a word.

"If you make a move or the slightest sound I'll kill you!" continued
Philip threateningly. "Drop your hands behind you--there, like that!"

With the quickness and skill which he had acquired under Sergeant Moody
he secured the guard's wrists with one of the coffin box straps, and
gagged him with the same cloth that had been used upon himself. He had
observed that his prisoner carried the key to the padlocked cabin in one
of his coat pockets, and after possessing himself of this he made him
seat himself in the deep shadow, strapped his ankles, and then unlocked
the prison door.

There was a light inside, and from beyond this the white faces of the
man and the woman stared at him as he entered. The man was leaning back
in his cot, and Philip knew that the wife had risen suddenly, for one
arm was still encircling his shoulders, and a hand was resting on his
cheek as if she had been stroking it caressingly when he interrupted
them. Her beautiful, startled eyes gazed at him half defiantly now.

He advanced into the light, took off his hat, and smiled.

With a cry Thorpe's wife sprang to her feet.

"Sh-h-h-h-h!" warned Philip, raising a hand and pointing to the door
behind them.

Thorpe had risen. Without a word Philip advanced and held out his hand.
Only half understanding, the prisoner reached forth his own. As, for
an instant, the two men stood in this position, one smiling, the other
transfixed with wonder, there came a stifled, sobbing cry from behind.
Philip turned. The woman stood in the lamp glow, her arms reaching out
to him--to both--and never, not even at Lac Bain, had he seen a woman
more beautiful than Thorpe's wife at that moment.

As if nothing had happened, he went to the table, where there was a pen
and ink and a pad of paper.

"Perhaps your wife hasn't told you everything that has happened
to-night, Thorpe," he said. "If she hasn't, she will--soon. Now,
listen!"

He had pulled a small book from an inner pocket and was writing.

"My name is Steele, Philip Steele, of the Royal Mounted. Down in Chicago
I've got a father, Philip Egbert Steele, a banker, who's worth half a
dozen millions or so. You're going down to him as fast as dog-sledge and
train can carry you, and you