s, and he
knew that it must be Curly undergoing the Ordeal, whatever that might
be. A cold chill swept over him, accompanied by a fierce anger. Was
this village the abode of murderers, with Jim Weston as their leader?
he asked himself. Were they murdering Curly down there, and had other
men been treated in a similar manner? And would he himself be the next
victim?

He had heard enough, and as there was nothing he could do, he went back
to the house, where he passed a sleepless night. He could not get
those cries of distress out of his mind, and he wondered whether he
should not try to escape under cover of night. He banished this idea,
however, as useless. He thought, too, of Glen. Would she allow the
Indians to put him to death? He recalled what she had said about her
father; how little she understood him, and that she had no idea what he
might do.

Early the next morning he was standing by the side of the lake, when he
saw _The Frontiersman_ cutting through the water, headed downstream. A
lone figure was standing well aft, and he at once recognized it as
Glen. She waved her hand to him as the boat sped by, and he could see
her standing there until a bend in the shore hid her from view. Going
back to the house he learned from Klota that the master of Glen West
had gone down to the Yukon River for his mail. It was always left at
the trading-post by the steamers on their way down river. It generally
took a whole day to make the trip there and back. This information
caused Reynolds considerable disappointment, as he would not be able to
meet Weston or his daughter that day.

The sun was just disappearing beyond the mountain peaks when _The
Frontiersman_ returned, and ran up the creek to her wharf. Reynolds,
watching, hoped to see Glen upon the deck. But he looked for her in
vain, and he wondered what had become of her. Was it possible that her
father had sent her outside? he asked himself.

Sconda did not come home for supper, but about an hour later he
appeared with two other Indians, and informed Reynolds that the Big
White Chief wished to see him. Reynolds now knew that the critical
moment had arrived, so without the least hesitation he accompanied his
guards, who conducted him at once to the big house on the hill.

Jim Weston was seated at his desk as the prisoner was ushered in. The
first glance at the man told Reynolds that he was a person who would
stand no nonsense or quibbling. Boldness