nd of gunfire,
and from the cabin itself there came no sign of life, unless the smoke
meant life. Scarcely had the sledge stopped before Celie was on her
feet and running to the door. It was locked, and she beat against it
excitedly with her little fists, calling a strange name. Standing close
behind her, Philip heard a shuffling movement beyond the log walls, the
scraping of a bar, and a man's voice so deep that it had in it the
booming note of a drum. To it Celie replied with almost a shriek. The
door swung inward, and Philip saw a man's arms open and Celie run into
them. He was an old man. His hair and beard were white. This much
Philip observed before he turned with a sudden, thrill toward the open
in the forest. Only he had heard the cry that had come from that
direction, and now, looking back, he saw a figure running swiftly over
the plain toward the cabin. Instantly he knew that it was a white man.
With his revolver in his hand he advanced to meet him and in a brief
space they stood face to face.

The stranger was a giant of a man. His long, reddish hair fell to his
shoulders. He was bare-headed, and panting as if hard run, and his face
was streaming with blood. His eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets
as he stared at Philip. And Philip, almost dropping his revolver in his
amazement, gasped incredulously:

"My God, is it you--Olaf Anderson!"

CHAPTER XXV

Following that first wild stare of uncertainty and disbelief in the big
Swede's eyes came a look of sudden and joyous recognition. He was
clutching at Philip's hand like a drowning man before he made an effort
to speak, still with his eyes on the other's face as if he was not
quite sure they had not betrayed him. Then he grinned. There was only
one man in the world who could grin like Olaf Anderson. In spite of
blood and swollen features it transformed him. Men loved the red-headed
Swede because of that grin. Not a man in the service who knew him but
swore that Olaf would die with the grin on his face, because the
tighter the hole he was in the more surely would the grin be there. It
was the grin that answered Philip's question.

"Just in time--to the dot," said Olaf, still pumping Philip's hand, and
grinning hard. "All dead but me--Calkins, Harris, and that little
Dutchman, O'Flynn, Cold and stiff, Phil, every one of them. I knew an
investigating patrol would be coming up pretty soon. Been looking for
it every day. How many men you got?"

H