g in his mind
ever since he had stumbled on that body buried in the snow yesterday
afternoon. Was his enemy going to escape him, after all? Could Holt be
telling the true reason why they had left town so hurriedly? He would
not let himself believe it.

"You ought to work up a better story than that," he said contemptuously.
"You can throw a husky through the holes in it. How could Elliot know,
for instance, that Miss O'Neill was not safe?"

"The same way you could' a' known it," snapped old Gideon. "He 'phoned
to Smith's Crossin' and found the stage hadn't got in and that there was
a hell of a storm up in the hills."

Macdonald set his face. "You're lying to me. You stumbled over the stage
while you were making your getaway. Now you're playing it for an alibi."

Elliot had risen. Sheba stood beside him, her hand in his. She spoke
quietly.

"It's the truth. Believe it or not as you please. We care nothing about
that."

The stab of her eyes, the carriage of the slim, pliant figure with its
suggestion of fine gallantry, challenged her former lover to do his
worst.

On the battered face of Gordon was a smile. So long as his Irish
sweetheart stood by him he did not care if he were charged with high
treason. It was worth all it cost to feel the warmth of her brave,
impulsive trust.

The deep-set eyes of Macdonald clinched with those of his rival. "You
cached the rest of the gold, I suppose," he said doggedly.

With a lift of his shoulders the younger man answered lightly. "There
are none so blind as those who will not see, Mr. Macdonald." He turned
to Sheba. "Come. We must make breakfast."

"You're going to Kusiak with me," his enemy said bluntly.

"After we have eaten, Mr. Macdonald," returned Elliot with an ironic
bow. "Perhaps, if you have not had breakfast yet, you will join us."

"We start in half an hour," announced the mine-owner curtly, and he
turned on his heel.

The rifle lay where Sheba had dropped it when she ran to gather her
stricken lover into her arms. Macdonald picked it up and strode over the
brow of the hill without a backward look. He was too proud to stay and
watch them. It was impossible to escape him in the deep snow that filled
the hill trails, and he was convinced they would attempt nothing of the
kind.

The Scotchman felt for the first time in his life old and spent. Under
tremendous difficulty he had mushed for two days and had at last run his
men down. The lust of vengeance had s